


Misc 003: Bring the Girl Some Flowers

by Rhion



Category: By the Gun (2014), by the gun (movie)
Genre: AU, F/M, Fixed Ending, Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-15 09:58:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 36,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3442970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhion/pseuds/Rhion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What? You gonna keep on bringing me flowers? We gonna go to the prooom?"<br/>"Mph..." he just smiled knowingly, dipping a little lower, silently teasing, and most definitely keeping his yapper shut while she watched.<br/>"Ohhh...oh so it's like <i>that</i>, huh?" she rolled her eyes, laughing a little, but he could tell she wasn't against the idea, expecting him to just out and out lock lips with her...instead, he tucked a soft curl of hair away, the smile that had been on his face, slipping and changing, a surprising amount of peacefulness welling up within him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I watched By the Gun and while it was way better than I thought it would be, there are some serious _issues_ I have. Like the fact that - wait, I need a spoiler warning. 
> 
> SPOILER WARNING
> 
> Whether you’ve seen the movie or not, hopefully this is enjoyable. However, there’s issues I’ve got with the movie, like the fact that Ali and Nick both know they’re in danger, Nick asks her to come away with him, she agrees...and instead of packing up pronto, they shag and go to bed. Which results in Saul (the Boss) having time to send a hit out on them, and then people die when they already had warning and ability to escape, but opt to faff off and shag and take a nap. No. No. You do _not_ faff off, shag, take a nap, when you _know_ shit’s gotten real. No, no, no. Illogical, no matter how stressed out you are, especially if you know the quality of folks involved. No, you get up, you fuckin’ run. Period. End of story.
> 
> SPOILER WARNING END
> 
> So, I am writing this to fix that little issue I’ve got to give this plausibility.
> 
> Also, goddammit, I had meant to work on Ch5 of PotS. Or Ch4 of Lurking. Or well...chapter anythin' that isn't this. *sigh*

Jerry’s words came back to him, making Nick feel sicker and sicker to his stomach. ‘When you’re young, you got options.’ Yeah, options, he’d had some once, and he’d blown it. Blown it all. Now it was coming back on him, coming back on him hard. Pops was dead, Georgie and he’d split, cutting off years of friendship, a friendship that’d gotten him through thick and thin and an ugly stint in Shirley where his ass woulda been toast in too many damn ways... And Pops was dead. Pops was dead. 

Pops and Mom. Both of them. Georgie, well, Nick was dead to him, best it stayed that way. Vito - Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what the fuck was he supposed to do about his kid brother? Vito was smart, yeah, smarter than Nick ever had been, Vito had _real_ prospects...so long as Nick stayed away, so long as he finally, finally did what Pops had always been yelling and cursing at him to do ever since he got caught running credit cards. Everybody was gone, Nick was dead, basically, he didn’t have friends, and his real family, most of them really were dead, full on, deader than doornails except for a deadbeat cousin and his baby brother who didn’t need to be tainted by any of this huge fuckup Nick had made of his life.

Just a long line of fuckups, one after another, after another, and what did he have to show for it? Nothing. No friends, no family, nothing. 

Raking shaking hands through his hair, Nick pressed his forehead to the wood patterned steering wheel of the car he’d paid for in cash having felt a rush of pride, accomplishment, hell, there’d even been hope in that mix, as he’d done something with himself finally. How many days ago had this very damn beast of a beigey gold caddy with its leather seats, been all he wanted? He’d bragged about it to Ali...when he hadn’t even owned it yet, making some claim that he was more than a thug who barely had three bucks unspoken for to buy a pack of smokes. So he’d come into money for the first time in ages just a day or two before he’d shown up at the end of her shift that night, paid back some debts and bought her nice flowers, then bragged about having a set of wheels that he didn’t. Now, fist slamming uselessly against the dash, he shuddered, wishing he hadn’t bragged, wishing he had kept things simple, wished he hadn’t gotten all smart thinking he could dream big when all he’d ever really wanted was some respect and acceptance for himself. Michael had offered him an out, Jerry had offered him an out, _Georgie_ had offered him an out. Fuck’um all, but chiefly himself, even _Saul_ had offered him an out, saying he didn’t let just anyone in, saying Nick had ‘heart’, and Nicki had believed Saul cared, had believed that he was given a real choice, and he had been, he could have turned away, but he’d grabbed hold of the elusive, thinking that Saul and the Family could actually give Nicki something real. From going honest and working hard to remaining nothing more than a thug but who didn’t have someone’s lifeblood on his hands... He had this piece of shit car, two duffels full of cash, and nothing else. 

Weeks ago - months now? - he’d wanted to be a made man so bad, figuring it would be miles and miles better than his piece of shit life, drifting from moment to moment, bragging and flirting his way into women’s beds, under their skirts, screwing them until he and they - sometimes two or three broads the same night - fell asleep exhausted, and then waking up before them later to snatch up whatever he could to pawn or cash from their unguarded purses. He hadn’t even had a flop of his own, a few changes of clothes stored back at the produce warehouse or with George, relying upon whatever he could weasle and squirm his way into for a place in out of the weather every night or if he couldn’t score, taking up a spot on Georgie’s couch. Everyone had always razzed him about that, thinking he was just drowning in pussy (while calling him a cocksucker and a fag, to boot, hell with the bastards) for fun, and once it had been, but it begun to leave him feeling hollow. Being a made man would have meant respect, made it so if he screwed some dame or other, it would just be because he felt like it, not because he was fucking around to get a place to sleep, a shower, and a chance at pathetically petty thievery to earn a few bucks... Cash which he almost never even kept for himself, giving the lion’s share of it to Vito, hoping his kid brother got good grades, and to try and keep their old man warm and fed too. A made man, his little scout button, belonging, respect, nobody would have messed with him, that’s what he’d wanted, that’s what he’d believed, because he’d needed to believe in _something_. 

Sure as shit hadn’t believed in himself, nobody ever had, ‘cept Georgie and Vito. 

Striking the dash uselessly one last time, banging his forehead against the wheel, Nick didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t a plan, hadn’t an idea, and he definitely had nowhere to go. Not that _that_ was anything new. Jerry had told him to scram, to run, and Nick had thought the man would help him, except the man actually was...if Nick stayed, he’d be dead, really dead, not just the empty husk choking on the too much he’d bitten off and couldn’t chew. That had been the plan that morning, ask Jerry for help, thinking that Saul’d understand, that his life wasn’t forfeit. And then Georgie, he’d thought Georgie would have an idea, some idea that wouldn’t get a buncha dead bodies, wouldn’t mean sticking out their necks more, in ways that could bring down not just Saul’s anger, but even make the cops finally take a looksee and destroy a thousand times more shit. Did he want Tony’s goons dead for killing Pops? Yeah, yeah he did, or maybe later, Nick couldn’t think like that, and there was the sick terror that Georgie would tell all about the fact that Nicki wasn’t even a real made man, that he was just a braggart and a weakling who hadn’t been able to do something so simple as pull a trigger...

Except he _had_ pulled a trigger, and now the world was crashing down around him, and he had nowhere to go, no plan of action, and no idea how to land on his feet, wheels and money be damned. 

If it were just himself... 

Rocking back in the seat, beige leather squeaking and cursing with the motion, he heard his phone ringing again, that expensive piece of plastic he’d bought because it had ‘net, and GPS, calculators and all that snazzy shit people liked. He’d gotten it so Ali could text him and he could text her back without it taking five fucking minutes to type out a few words the way the old throw away cell he’d relied upon for years caused him to take as he’d have to cycle through letters on the number pad one by one. Strangling the wheel, his gaze strayed to the touch screen device, and instead of Saul, Vito, Georgie, Tony’s goons, the number flashing with a snapped photo, was Ali. All day she had been buzzing him, all yesterday too. The night before that, well she’d rung him once just to see if he’d be by for some kind of food from one of them far off countries with all them crazy ass beliefs. She’d said he would like it, that he should live a little, that it was fun because you ate with your hands this messy, spicy stuff and wasn’t same-old-same-old fast food, pasta, or 7-11 nuked up burritos he’d lived off of for years. He hadn’t been able to make himself take any of those calls, to look at the text messages, at least, not at times he thought she would be awake, for fear of replying, for fear of drifting into her presence. How could he tell her he’d killed her father? That he’d snapped, that he’d freaked out, and pulled a trigger on a man tied to a chair and deconstructed by his best friend? 

Oh man, Nicki’d always known Georgie was a hard sonuvabitch, and he even knew why Georgie had taken a few pounds of flesh outta Tony, but to see that much damage done to another human being? Even one as scum of the earth and filthy as Tony? And then to have Georgie urging him to pull the trigger, whether it was on Tony or Georgie, to hear Tony ordering him to shoot George, back and forth, back and forth, until Nick had wanted to scream, until he probably _had_ screamed, driven insane by that cacophony wanting a mere moment to clear his head... Georgie may have owed Tony money due to his stupid ass gambling and bets, but Georgie wouldn’t have lured Tony out, and done what he’d done to the man, if Tony hadn’t disrespected Nick so much, if Tony hadn’t threatened Nick’s family, even if it was just his deadbeat cousin. George knew better than anyone how much Nick loved his family, and while the guy hadn’t any family of his own, George had considered Nick family...Nick wasn’t so fucking dumb he didn’t get that, know that, and it meant that Georgie may not have been part of Nick’s blood family, but he’d back Nicki up to keep them all safe, too. Baby gorilla, yeah, sure, and mean as them crazy ass silverbacks making war on other gorilla packs according to the documentary Nicki had watched when up at Shirley a few times, that was Georgie one hundred fucking percent with interest. 

But to see it first hand...? Georgie may have tied the man up, broken him down to tiny components, and left him on death’s door (even if they’d let him go, even if they’d taken him to a hospital straight away, Nicki wasn’t some dumb guttersnipe who couldn’t tell that Tony wasn’t about to croak on his own if given a few more whacks, and help probably would have only prolonged that ugly death rattling) but it was _Nicki_ who had pulled the trigger. And he’d pulled it because he was pushed, yeah, sure, because he was afraid for so many things...but he’d also pulled it out of rage that the scumsucker was Ali’s dad. That the fuckwad had made something beautiful and precious and light in the world and could, if released, rob Nick of ever being close enough to her ever again... Some part of him had pulled that trigger because Ali had told him about how Tony had walked out on she and her mom, how much shit her mom had had to do to keep Ali fed because her asswipe of a father refused to pay the child support the courts demanded, but then when Ali had gotten older, Tony had waltzed back in like it was all alright, and acted as though if he paid for most of her college classes and set her up in a cute little duplex...that all would be fine. (If Nicki’d had a daughter he was trying to win back even a little, for the sake of pride, he would have put her somewhere safer, because cute as that ramshackle green duplex was, it wasn’t in a place Nicki’d want his daughter living alone.) Yeah, no. That was all the selfish parts, the tiny fragments that hadn’t been screaming in confusion and horror at what Nick had found in that empty concrete hellhole. 

Nick stared at the screen as it dimmed, Ali’s call having gone on over to voicemail. Some of her messages had been worried...others, confused, while others were angry, bitter, and then there was the ones where she was hurt by his lack of reply... Swallowing thickly, Nick reached out, tapped the screen, and listened, the phone on speaker, sitting in its stupid, gimicky arm that he’d spent forty bucks on just to make it all look like he was important, the wires hanging out of its ass and trailing down to the lighter’s socket in the console to keep it all nice and charged up. 

_”Nick? Goddammit, Nick, where **are** you? Please, I’m sorry, just, forget anything I said earlier, I’m scared, are you okay? Just...call me, tell me, message me, let me know you’re okay, and if it’s over...just... Just, I don’t care, it’s okay, you ain’t gotta explain nothin’, I won’t try to tie you down where you don’t wanna be...”_ There was hiccuping, her voice trembling, and Nick clenched his jaw and his eyes, the wheel creaking under his grip and the seat groaning as his whole body went rigid while trying to ward off the image of her red-faced and terrified, this was so much worse than her being hurt by his lack of response. _”Please, my father’s not answering his phone either, and I’m afraid. I’m afraid for you, I’m afraid he went all crazy or somethin’ awful like that. You run with bad fuckin’ guys, and he’s part of all that, they don’t care, they just do whatever they like, and everybody knows how it goes - you piss one of them off, they can hurt you, but it’s always been someone else, it’s never been close up to me, Nicki, I keep back from all that, because it’s all evilness when it comes down to it. God, if he’s gotten you hurt... Nick, please, please, let me know you’re alive, let me know you’re not dead in some ditch. It’s all I’m askin’ from you, just...just two seconds of your time, and I’ll never ask anything of you again. Please, be okay, baby, please.”_

The message ended with hard clicks and sobs hideously cut off with the loudness of the old fashioned, green house phone Ali used instead of something remotely normal in this day and age, broken down in a way so very different than a man made into a pile of meat. It was worse, too. Ali was afraid for him, not just angry, not just hurt. She believed, she cared, she cared enough to be angry and to feel used by him if he really had done her the same way he’d done every other girl he’d come across... Since getting rid of Tony’s scraggly carcass, he’d laid low, he’d hidden out, he’d slept in the caddy in empty places he could find, places he’d squatted and hid out when Pops had first kicked him out years before getting caught stealing credit card information and shit like that. He’d been homeless in those places before, but at least it had been out of the direct elements back then. Those places had still been empty, and he’d parked the caddy there to sleep while he struggled with what to do until he’d finally gone to Jerry that morning, praying Tony’s corpse wouldn’t be found, at least, not until things were made good with Saul and those stupid naive hopes Nick had entertained. Ali cared. Cared enough to be angry. Cared enough to be afraid. Cared enough to break down and beg when she wasn’t the begging type, wasn’t the kind of woman to ever lower herself, she was good and proud and deserved respect and she was brought so low by her fear for him that she begged in spite of all that... Nickelo Tortano, he was worth something to her. Some kind of real worth, when he was, he well knew, worth absolutely nothing...

Gnashing his teeth, Nick shook his head repeatedly, hands going through the motions, starting up the car, and it purred like there wasn’t anything wrong in the world, and he chanted, “No, no, no, no, please God, no, not this.” But he couldn’t stop himself, it was habit, it was instinct, and he couldn’t keep away, he should risk a call, he should do that, but he couldn’t. He would tell her, he would tell her how reprehensible he was, that he’d killed her father that she thought may be out of pocket because the man was beating on Nick, he owed her that much and so much more. He’d show her he wasn’t worth anything, and then he’d leave, he’d leave so she could be like Vito, Eric and George - safe, and not dragged down by his worthless, cowardly hide. “No, no, please...God, no.”

It was no less than he deserved, deep down, Nick knew that.

Night time streets rolled by, he barely registered them, then he was in front of her house. He should leave the engine running. He should go in, let her know he was alive, but not worth her time, maybe she’d kill him, maybe she’d beat him, he’d deserve that, too, and maybe it’d make her feel better, reinforce the notion that men like him, men like her father, didn’t belong anywhere near her _ever_ and to never, ever let another fuckup like any of them in. Except he pulled his keys from the ignition, he grabbed his cell with its fancy GPS never get lost tracking, and he glanced in the back seat to see the enormous duffle stuffed to its gills, and the smaller one that bulged just as impressively. There was so much money in those bags, so much, way, way more than the thirty to forty grand he’d been ferrying to Saul having figured out who to squeeze... It was enough to run far, far away, just as Jerry had said, the other man looking away from him, turning his back earlier, and Nick had grabbed the bigger duffle having spied it that moment and felt spitefully disillusioned and betrayed enough to grab it. What good was all that money? And it was as he stared at it, swallowing over and over again, parched and thinking of just what to do to at least save the one infinitely precious thing in his life, the one person who cared about him in spite of how much she shouldn’t... Why had all that dough been just sitting out and why had Jerry turned his back like that? Again and again, the still repeating words Jerry had said months ago that Nick had options, that he’d best enjoy the good weather and sunshine as long as he could because winter was coming... 

Sick, so sick, the stab of hope was actually worse. Jerry said run. Jerry said run, run, run, and never come back, Jerry said do the right thing, but Nick didn’t know what that really meant. The Family killed traitors, they didn’t tell them to run. But Jerry said run, Jerry said forget it all, Jerry turned his back on so much green that Nick hadn’t even taken a second to consider how much was in there. Jerry was helping, was trying to give Nick escape, hope, a way out that Nick didn’t deserve. But that stab of sickening hope in his belly was a knot that left him wanting to puke his guts out yet again, a shivering sickening shudder from head to toe and back up again. Blood money, enough to buy a life or ten, at least, and he’d give it to Ali, maybe it would atone, maybe it would buy him enough leeway to convince her to come with him. Because the problem with Boston and girls like Ali, was there were disgusting vermin like himself all over the place, and they’d crawl all over her, attracted to the wonder of her, but they’d use her up, wear her down by sheer numbers... If she stayed. If he ran, if he brought her with him, he could give her a new life, maybe that’d make up for what all he’d done so, so wrong. She didn’t have to want him, she didn’t have to stay with him, he’d keep back if that was what she decided, so long as she ran with him, he could do that much, right? 

Locking up the caddy, dread and dizziness, terror and shame, dragged his feet, but he still moved firmly with purpose, he would ask her to come, beg her to come, and he would figure out how to tell her what a monster he was, to warn her to stay away and to not care about him anymore... He would just hold off until he got her away from this place, he’d just tell her he needed to go, beg her to come with him, and he’d bide his time until she couldn’t return to this nightmarish trap. He’d let her think her dad was after him, that he’d laid low and had to run because Tony was up to no good, and she would run with him, and he would get them the hell outta Dodge, to some place, _any place_ that would allow her to be safe, allow her to be herself, allow her to choose her good life, with its good things, and find that she no longer had to cope with some big mouth with grabby hands that’d be trying to get after her, hurt her, or cause her problems like how shit was here.

Ali had said she was a woman he could love after the first time he had kissed her, and that he should be careful. He hadn’t even intended on kissing her that night no matter how succulent those lips had looked, not really, but she had teased him like crazy about his usual line of bullshit that impressed girls in the past...she had teased him, let him know that bullshit didn’t impress her. The only time she had been impressed, was when he had dropped the street tough act, when he showed off the manners Mom had drilled into him years ago, the sort of sincerity that she had always valued. Ali had liked that, liked it in a way that wasn’t being impressed or dazzled. So when he’d gone all quiet, playful, and let her tease him some more, Nick had only been taken aback by how she lit up, how she was getting his goat, how she said by her manner that she didn’t take kindly to the typical greasy fucker, how she wanted a man who looked at her and paid attention, real attention, and wasn’t all posturing and lies. Nick had been caught up and taken unawares by all that glowing, all that teasing, until she struck a nerve mentioning Mom, and there was that brief pause where dingy, old street lamps, unreliable and not working so well, shed just enough brightness to catch on a fluttering wisp of hair... Nicki had just meant to catch it, see if it was as soft as it looked, to smooth the wayward bit back into place, but his hand had traveled, and he had marvelled at how peaceful he’d felt, how calm, how the world had just...stepped back. When Ali had said she was a woman he could love, he hadn’t understood at first, until he realized she meant that he could _allow_ himself to...that she’d value it, value him, if he let go of his act enough to do so. 

And she was right, she was a woman he could love, a woman he allowed himself to, but she shouldn’t love him, she didn’t need to be caught in his life of fuckups. Because of that though, Nick could do one thing right in his life, for real. He could take her to safety, take her where someone else would love her, and wouldn’t even have to figure out how to drop a thug’s facade, and where her priceless care could be properly reciprocated without fear or danger. He just had to convince her to leave with him, had to hide just which evil act he had perpetrated, had to let her believe that while he was afraid, it wasn’t for quite the real reasons, and she would flee. Yeah. Nicki could do that. 

When he managed to force himself to knock, the Ali that answered the door was beautiful. She was always beautiful, but she was done up nicer than usual. And the terror he had heard in her message wasn’t in evidence beyond a bit of bloodshot in her eyes and faded redness in her cheeks, she was calm, reserved, but she also welcomed him in, stoic and not showing off the fact she had broken down, broken down so badly she’d even allowed a recording of it to happen. That’s just the sort of woman she was, and she had her pride, she had her backbone, and besides...he was here, wasn’t he? Right before her? He could have called, he should have, Nick knew that, and knew that if he’d just once, just _once_ picked up the phone when she called or replied earlier, she wouldn’t be so reserved when allowing him in, she would be happy and relieved, and loud with it, blazing brighter than a good summer sun at noon. But he hadn’t, and it struck him low how much that reserve hurt, but it was actually a good thing, it was a good thing, he would hang onto that, she shouldn’t suffer on his account, she should hold her head up high and not grant him any sort of power over her emotions. No matter how the still whimpering and mewling and afraid part of himself cried out at that bit of distance, at not being granted the full force of her warmth... Eventually that part would shut up, wouldn’t it? Nick could only pray that it would, otherwise he’d go mad, and probably wind up unmanned by it in the long run. 

She let him in though, making room, and apparently willing to hear him out after he had wounded her with a maelstrom of emotions because she made the mistake of seeing him as valuable, someone she cared about and trusted him to not throw that away, “I have to be at work soon.”

Nick could barely make himself look at her square, for too, too many reasons, and the abiding shameful gratitude that she’d let him have a chance to say his piece was a big part of it. He just had to make it good, but his voice was lost, and what little he managed when asking if he could come in, was barely more than a whisper. Knees locked, that was the only way he could keep from collapsing at her feet and begging while confessing every sin to be judged under that reservedly worried mask she wore. Even through that distance she had put up, going so far as to back away a few steps, he heard the movement, Christ, he could even smell her perfume fading away as space was put between them - even through that distance that implied she was protecting her heart, struggling for some self control and her pride, the really worst thing wasn’t even the hint of fear it spoke of, and while Nick didn’t want her afraid of him ever, but at the same time, he could understand it and accept it... No, the worst thing that distance held, was the fact that when he glanced at her, her grace and self imposed reserve, only very poorly covered her worry, and worry meant care... She still cared, she’d still listen, and he was too tongue tied to spill out the story that would let him get her to safety, tongue all fucked up and soul all selfish asking for absolution and love instead of manning up and doing what was necessary to set aside that cowardly and greedy desire long enough to protect them both.

When he couldn’t make anything come out, Ali chewed her lip, sniffling, “Listen, some guys came by earlier, asking if I knew where my father is.”

“Oh yeah?” it was pitiful and the weight of Ali’s gaze on him was piercing, it didn’t matter that he’d twisted aside, unable to bear seeing whatever play of emotions was probably traveling her face.

“Do you happen to know anything about that?”

And that destroyed any hope Nick had scrounged up to con her into fleeing with him, any hope that she would buy some line about him needing to leave because Tony had made threats. Gone was that meagre line of bullshit that Ali herself had feared, and with it being gone, he had nothing to offer up but the truth. If he gave her that, she wouldn’t leave with him, she would remain trapped in Boston, because frankly...? Nick couldn’t see Tony having left her anything to help her get free, and though the bastard had paid some of her schooling, she was a bartender with few prospects and a degree that just meant a pile of student loans that enslaved her. If not through him, how else would Ali manage to crawl free? Worse - in spite of how bad Boston was, she had said that it was home, that she wouldn’t leave it. So...no, Nick had no story to tell that would give her a good reason, a reason she would accept, to leave Boston’s miasma, and no way to escape financially anyway... What could he do?

Nothing, and his always running mouth betrayed him, even more than the burning in his eyes and the self loathing that no doubt wracked him visibly just as he felt it in every breath he took, yanking off the stupid knit cap he was wearing, “Yeah.” At least he could stand and face her, take it like a man, and maybe the sight of whatever upset Ali revealed, could force Nick to some other action. 

Hell, maybe he’d do the unspeakable and whack her on the head or something, shove as many of her belongings into bags and shit as he could grab, then stuff her in the caddy just to get her out of here since he couldn’t come up with some other decent reason. God, if he did that though...she’d hate him for eternity. That’s not what Nick wanted, it was just a price and cost of getting them free that he could pay. Right? Sure, sure, he could do that, he just had to say it enough times.

The knowing, disappointed nod she was giving as she looked at him was something Nick never wanted to experience again, but he had to try, yet he couldn’t hold her gaze any longer, it burned him too much, he wasn’t strong enough to withstand it. “I have to go away for awhile.”

“What do you mean?” Jaw firming, “Do you know where my father is?” she asked, the redness of tears beginning to return to her face, a face that she must have scrubbed clean when Tony’s goons came asking after him. Fuckin’ hell he longed to touch her, but didn’t dare, god, he couldn’t even make himself move. See, she was a smart cookie, if her dad had been after Nick, had been making problems, and was doing dirty deeds, then his men wouldn’t be looking for him, they’d be right with him. But they’d gone to her house, asking after her father, and Ali was smart, oh she was as smart as she was good, and it meant something had gone bad for her dad...and Nick was there, unscathed, and that was all the proof she would have needed, even without his yapper opening up to confirm the answer she had already found by adding up the evidence. “Nick... Nick do you know where my father is?”

“Would you go away with me?” desperate, Nick closed the distance, and Ali didn’t recoil, she stood there, looking at him, hurt...and he wasn’t real clear on how he managed to not reach out, but how he wished he could, just to connect, to maybe soothe what couldn’t be. 

Scumbag that Tony was, he was still her father...and like Nick, she’d lost her mom ages ago, and sometimes no matter how loathsome and hated a parent was, if it was all that remained, it was sort of hard not to love them. At least Pops had loved Nick, had done his best, had cared, hadn’t ever walked out on him, abandoned him out of narcissism. No, Pops had thrown Nick out when he’d shown that he was already spiralling down the road to hell after Mom bought it. Pops had disowned him when Nick betrayed the good home and love he’d been brought up in, it was punishment for his misdeeds, rather than Pops being a selfish uncaring prick. And that, well, it didn’t actually _matter_ because Tony was still Ali’s father, no matter how little the fucking blowjob had cared about her, _she_ had still loved the man, and losing him hurt... And she was looking up at Nick, showing him that hurt, refusing to back away from him, letting him see the pain he had caused by taking her last piece of family away, no matter how shitty that piece was, and showing Nick that she hurt because he had betrayed her by having robbed her of that vicious cockstain no matter how much better off she would be without the fucker. 

“Nick...” hand pressed and covering her mouth as she fought to not shatter before him, because well...because that was how Ali was. She’d show him the consequences and how badly he’d hurt her, but she wasn’t going to fall apart in front of him, he wasn’t worth it, he wasn’t worth breaking apart in front of, and he certainly couldn’t be relied upon to not hurt her when she was in pieces, or to hold her up...probably. Nick was sure of it, sure that’s why she hung on to some semblance of composure, no matter he’d empty his veins of blood if it was the glue necessary to paste her back together if she fell apart.

“Will you? WIll you go away with me?” unable to help it, Nick was closer, closer, standing and looming over her, and how could it slip his mind that realization of just how much smaller than him she was? Take away those boots she’d started wearing all the time whenever he was around, and her face was smack dab in his sternum, and those boots she had laughingly said were becoming her favourite because they raised her up enough so that kissing him was easier.... Weeks ago, he’d been happy about that, for once not getting a crick in his neck while standing and kissing a woman without carefully changing his stance to wide enough so he was shorter... But he was larger and she knew what he’d done, and she should be afraid if she were any other kind of woman, should back away, yell, scream, cry, but she stood there, staring up at him. And while her tears were fighting to come to the foreground, and she was fighting to contain whatever words or cries wanted to break free of her mouth, held back by several fingers and an iron will, Ali still didn’t back away, and there was the faintest of nods...

How? What? Why? He didn’t dare to believe, because that tiny repeated nod was there, and it couldn’t be real, not with that look on her face, that nod had to be a hallucination on Nick’s part, born of animalistic desperation, as she looked away as though she couldn’t bear to see him for a moment more before her deep eyes returned to him, boring in, analyzing, weighing, her question repeated once more, “Where’s my father?”

Nick knew. Nick knew exactly and he begged his mouth to stay shut. To not give the location, to not spill everything. It was just on his face though, louder than any statement that yeah, he knew at least something about what had happened to her father, or why Tony’s muscle fished out of the back end projects were looking for her old man. There was a world of difference between knowing a lot of what happened and the why of it...and being the one who’d done it, up to and including dumping the body. 

Ali nodded again, reading everything he couldn’t, wouldn’t say, to at least spare her useless details while admitting his guilt. She knew, and he knew she knew, that it was him, it was him who’d done it. She knew and he thanked whatever saint took that small mercy for the fact that he didn’t have to say, that she read it and knew, without the risk of him spilling his guts. Ali didn’t need to know how Tony’s bladder had gone hours before Nick shot him and the few seconds Nicki had wasted on trying to save and reason with the man, the ammonia had been so rancid and pervasive Nicki had wanted to gag on his disgust, how afterwards, her father’s bowels had released while he and George were bagging him up. Ali didn’t need to know of the stench, and how, as Nick had stumbled to the wall to hurl until nothing was left, he had been on the verge of vowing to never eat meat again as Tony’s body had reeked of raw beef and pork blended together from the way the hole in the bastard’s skull had leaked all kinds of funky fluids to make unholy mixes worse than shit and piss. Or that corpses were actually pretty big no matter how rat-like and small it had seemed when animated by a soul, right? The body had to be made smaller. And to contain the mess as much as possible, they’d bagged him up, _then_ began to hack him into manageable, disposable chunks at the joints, that were then triple bagged again over that. Ali didn’t need to know that Tony had said he didn’t ‘give a shit if you bone my daughter, you hit it as much as you like’ as if Ali was some object to be bartered and traded, that all her father she was presently mourning had been concerned over, was how to get out with his skin intact while plotting punishment for Nick...as, if Nick had done as the man said and offed George and taken Tony to safety, the man would have turned on him soon as he could, or done something else to get back at Nick. Ali didn’t need to know just how little her father cared about anyone or anything, and the kinds of poison he’d spew for shits and giggles, even while it would have been more likely to lead to survival if he’d just kept his gap toothed, fetid breathed pie hole _shut_ for once instead of spouting threats he had no ability at that moment to back up... Ali didn’t need to know how desperately Nick had actually tried to figure out a way to save Tony while sparing his and Georgie’s hides, not for the sake of hating to see a human being like that, but because all those fragmented bits that were inside vying back and forth, teeter tottering, didn’t want Ali to hurt, and especially not over some pissant, leather skinned ginny toad who couldn’t care less about her... Nick thanked whatever guardian angels looked over Ali for allowing him enough strength to keep his own mouth shut and not let any of those things slip while still communicating his guilt, his part in her father’s death, without uttering a single word. 

The smack of her hand was a sharp crack, shocking, brutal, not for its strength, rather it was that it happened. No woman had ever successfully smacked him since Mom died because he’d never allowed it, and Mom had only done it a few times, usually when he’d been rude as hell to someone, rude to the point of dehumanizing cruelty, she’d pop him a good one on the mouth in private to let him know how horrible it was to be treated without courtesy. Nick had been looking forward to Ali taking out her pain on him, except he’d thought she’d _hit_ him, really hit him. A smack was emotional, yeah, sure, but it was also about power and putting someone in their place, belittling them, making them small and insignificant...to _hit_ was more about bodily pain, not that psycho babble mumbo jumbo shit. Nick had figured Ali’d hit him, she was the type, she was a street smart girl, she could probably take a man down with fists and kicks almost as ruthlessly as she could with verbal barbs. But she smacked him, and he flinched, and she smacked him again, hands balling up into fists to pound at his shoulders and chest, a distraught child with a tantrum and an angry woman making the source of her pain into something less all at the same time.

“Fuck! The fuck!?! The fuck is wrong with you!” the words were flailed and sharp and cruel as the sides of her fists and the palm of her hand raining physically weak but emotionally destructive havoc on him, pouring out her betrayal, anguish, and everything that had been bottled up for Christ knew how fucking long, probably even years before they’d met, all kinds of unresolved issues with her old man, that now, would never even have a pipe dream’s chance of being worked out.

Nick was shocked, but he also understood, he understood, and he deserved it, and he accepted her judgement. He still caught her hands after a moment, still caught her elbows, yanking her in close, because much as he had earned all that wrath, there was something more important at stake. Ali needed comfort, Ali needed to be held, and much as she needed to rail, she needed to be given shelter when hurting her worst...and God, oh fucking God, did Nick need to try to give it, to push away some of that pain, that pain that echoed his so, so loudly. He’d lost everything because he was an idiot, he wasn’t no damn innocent, he knew he was at fault, and he hurt, Christ he could fucking scream and howl with it, but he’d had days to stew, days to soak, and other than quiet curses and angry, fearful mutters, nothing else had come free, he hadn’t earned the right to those feelings or the right to express them, and never the right to be comforted over them. But Ali? She was innocent in all of this, all of it, and he could do that much in the moment for her, could hold her, rock her, be solid and silent and speak without words, giving her the ragged protection of his body between her and everything else. 

“Why? Why’d you do that?” crying into his chest, small thumps of fists, stomps of feet that hadn’t the strength nor drive to really do anything, fuck, they weren’t even near his own steel toed boot covered feet, and were only as close as they were because he’d shifted to hold her, shuffled her in closer - otherwise it’d be like that troll in the fairytale with the gold being spun out of straw, useless hopping and stomping to express a feeling. In his arms, she shattered and Nick didn’t know why she’d allowed herself to, but he could only hang on, as she sobbed, “Why? Why? Why’d _you_ do that?”

A few words were missing, but Nicki read them into the places they belonged - why’d you do that to me? Why’d you take my family from me? Why’d you hurt me? Why did YOU hurt me like this when I trusted you and believed in you?

Cradling and clutching her to him, Nick stroked her back, stroked her head, burying his face in her hair, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Not for killing Tony, not really, but for hurting her, he was sorry for that. Kissing her crown, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He wanted to say ‘I love you, I love you’, but that wouldn’t make it better, and he’d never be worthy of saying that to her anyways, not ever again, and the words had only once been gasped out before, garbled and unintelligible as he had lost himself completely in her arms that night until he had thought he could cover her in a blanket of his every feeling. But even the excusable voicing those things to her while washed away in peace, was no longer available to him, so he reached for other things he was allowed to say, no matter that they did nothing for him, they were for her only. Rocking side to side as they stood there, muttering, mumbling, like a broken record, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry...”

But the one thing Nick did take heart in, she wasn’t pushing him away, she was burrowing in deeper, clinging to him, and it fed that sickening twist of hope that was still stuck and buried in his gut. There’d been so many moments he’d thought it over, thought it snuffed out for good, before it’d rear back and shine just enough to make him queasier. And she was clinging to him, and she _had_ nodded, her inner self having revealed that she wanted to leave with him accidentally through cracked composure while asking him what he’d known about her old man... Nick held her and vowed that he would take this, and get them out, get her away from all this, and that tiny shard of hope promised him to believe she would _allow_ him to, not fight him, that she’d come willingly to some other life better than this one.

XXX

Nick used old habits from back in the day when he’d done lots of burglaries, which weren’t much like that crap shown on tv when burglars were ever shown. Burglars didn’t want to meet residents, they didn’t want to risk confrontation, and they sure as shit didn’t like hitting up places at night - why? Well because even if the tenants of the intended house weren’t home, their neighbours were, and somebody’d notice, for fuck’s sake, and even if they didn’t call the cops right away thinking whomever was doing that breaking and entering was actually the resident of the abode, later on upon police questioning, some neighbour who’d been home may recall an identifying detail. Fuck that shit, burglars liked daytime on weekdays or Sundays during church service in more religious boroughs, where possible witnesses would be fewer and an idea of available time to do their work was in place. Burglars weren’t silent fucks, they weren’t neat, they were messy and thorough, they may use all kinds of crazy ways to get into their intended target’s home - like, Nick was half decent at that free-running/urban ninja shit he’d taken a few courses in for exercise back in Shirley solely because he’d been doing it without realizing it, all that flipping and clambering over crap - but once inside they had one purpose only: find valuables to net a profit off of. 

Ali sat on the couch, watching him, her eyes huge, clutching the ugly, chipped mug he’d filled with bilge water coffee for her. She had, at first, attempted to lend a hand, but that’d been more hindrance than help. Instead, he was dumping shit everywhere, prying apart anything with compartments, sorting through, hands alighting and coasting over objects, tossing obvious valuables in one pile, obvious sentimental objects in another, and personal effects like clothes or hairbrush crap that girls seemed to accumulate in fucking ridiculous amounts in every corner of their homes besides just bed or bathrooms, into a third pile. It was the sentimental shit though that he was more gentle with, that middle pile was on the coffee table, and Ali was supposed to be sorting through what she could leave behind and what she couldn’t do without emotionally. Nick hadn’t any idea how long he had before Saul’d order a hit out on him, probably had already done so, and he couldn’t count on Jerry having given much delay in informing Saul of his earlier meeting. Fuck, he’d wasted too much daylight, he should have shown up earlier, not...not that Nick had actually thought to go to Ali, he’d intended to stay well away until shit blew over with Saul, or that was his intent when thinking things could have been made right, straightened out. 

Grimacing as he found an enormous photo album, Nick turned towards the coffee table, setting it down with only a little care - time wasn’t on their side, or it probably wasn’t. Best case scenario, Jerry hadn’t mentioned Nicki’s showing up until hours later or, hell, fuck it, if Nick was thinking daydream best cases full of blessings, Jerry may not have said anything yet! Worst case, Jerry had spilled as soon as Nick was down the hall, but the huge ass duffle of extra dough fed that little stabbing knife in Nicki’s gut that meant hope, that Jerry held off or would hold off, as long as he dared while not risking his own neck too damn much. It was more than Jerry owed Nick, more than Nick had earned, deserved, or could dare to pray for, but he was thankful for that nasty lance that made him long to continually turn aside to toss cookies and paint the ground with bile... 

Living room thrashed, Nick swiftly moved to the bathroom of Ali’s duplex apartment. The place used to be a cute single family bungalow probably way back in the day before the present owner - well, late, since Tony’d croaked - decided it’d make more money to slap on another door and divide the place straight down the length into a two apartment situation. It was still cute in a kind of way that a not so great neighbourhood for nice girls to be living in on their own would be, definite step up from some flops Nick had seen in his time, but also it wasn’t nowhere near the best. And he’d definitely seen some nice digs so he knew what girls in safe places with pretty or whatever squats should have. (Who’d have thought that nuro brainy whatever rich girls at school to be some sorta super special surgeon would slum in his neck of the woods, looking for a good time with a bad guy? He’d taken everything out of that broad’s place that he could...or at least he should have. Slumming rich girl she may have been, but she’d been nice enough, they’d screwed for hours, taken a break and she’d brought him breakfast in bed while they recharged for some more fucking. Then she’d even told him to take a load off in her real nice shower and shit with all kinds of pricy body stuff that smelled damn good... Okay, so he’d cleared out her cash and taken a few stray pieces of jewelry, but he hadn’t felt alright taking more than that. Wasn’t too often a chick was that nice to him just off the bat...usually the lady’d have to be a ‘regular’ he had cultivated for emergencies like bad snow storms and a big meal with only a bit of cash snatched off of them if it was laying around loose. Hell, she’d even thrown his clothes from that day into the wash so when that frosty morning which had been late afternoon really, came and he left, they’d been all toasty... Alright he’d stolen a few sweaters and hoodies that looked big and stretchy enough, because fuck that had been an icy winter, and she had plenty while he’d had not so much.) But Ali’s little place, well it was all hers, and it was covered in knickknacks. If he didn’t respect her, didn’t want to limit the shock and distress of leaving everything behind as much as he could, Nicki would have just grabbed a handful of shit that looked vaguely important, then stuffed clothes and girl crap into trash bags, duffels or suitcases - whatever he could find - then haul it to the caddy. 

On the coffee table, his cell buzzed weird, while he was returning to the living room intent on grabbing a trash bag - seriously, chicks had too much shit in their bathrooms, and much as Nick appreciated their efforts to be all soft and nice smelling, it just seemed like a dumb ass investment and waste of space...however, Nick wasn’t anywhere near so stupid as to dare believing a woman would want to only take shampoo, a bar of soap, toothbrush and toothpaste, even if on the run, so he was just gonna grab everything that looked half full and throw it in the bag - to fill with her bath crap and makeup. Ali flinched, jumping on her perch on the sofa, eyes shooting wide, shocky, upset, lost, as she stared at his cell. She’d heard the brief pingy buzz thing too, but it had only done the thing once or twice. 

Nick picked it up, frowning, “Fuckin’ a, what’s that about? Ain’t no call, no message...nah, not even an email thing or whatever that shit is.”

Ali took a deep breath, hand held out, and since between the two of them, she actually _liked_ and had had access to the techno magic crap everyone took for granted, he relinquished it to her without a fuss. “Here, let me see.”

He shrugged, and went back to the bathroom, a pair of white kitchen trash bags in hand, doubling them up so whatever he wound up shoving into them, they’d be less likely to tear. “You got it. If it’s a call, don’t fuckin’ answer it, unless it’s from Vito’s number, got it? Gonna need it later though, I ain’t never been outsida Massachusetts ‘cept for one time to New York City when I was like, fuckin’ thirteen or some shit, won’t be able ta find my ass with both hands without that go finder.”

“Uh-huh,” absentminded agreement, attention locked onto something that may or may not be useful. 

Grungy, 1970’s pea soup green bathtub and equally nasty green tile, withered yellow light cast from the trio of bulbs over the mirror, it was an ugly bathroom, but that didn’t stop it from having once felt comforting. The bathmat was clean and fluffy, Ali always washed them like clockwork she said - as in weekly - there were equally fluffy but old and stained towels on the racks...and those were oversized. That first shower the morning after with her, Nick had marvelled at how fucking huge the towel he’d grabbed had been - damn thing was practically big enough to cover a twin size mattress. Making a face, Nick sucked his teeth once, shrugged, and grabbed up the four she’d taken to putting out - used to be just two for herself, but she had begun to leave him his own. Fucked up, wasn’t it? Whatever she had viewed him as, she’d made him welcome, made space for him, and it wasn’t fancy, but it hadn’t needed to be. His own towels to use without asking for one or using hers, a second toothbrush in the fugly Walmart marbled plastic cup on the sink, hell...his last visit, there had been a men’s razor out for him instead of the disposables she had originally put out. And okay, _that_ was fancy, one of those old fashioned kinds with the double heads, but when he’d tried to mention it, she had shrugged saying it was an antique and had belonged to her grandpa. Of course he snatched that and the round tin that held shave soap and then that silly barber bristle thing. Well, all that, those brushes, those towels, the bathmat, the shampoo and conditioner crap that Ali smelled of most of the time - that all went into the bag. He squatted, yanking open walnut patterned pasteboard that was the cabinet for the sink and saw those funky colourful boxes of girl products to plug up their twats when it was that time, and those got added to the bag. An electric blue bag that looked sort of like a funky half miniature laptop case that was super deep was opened, inspected briefly, and with a grunt, the makeup and all that muck inside was identified as ‘girl crap they like to carry around a lot’, and like everything else...that got shoved in. 

“Nicki?” tone uncertain, a little concerned, and Ali was in the doorframe of the bathroom, his cell in hand.

“Yeah?” pausing, head cocked, he listened, a flash of fear bolting through him, the horrible thought of maybe the goons had showed up and were using her as a hostage to distract him having struck. Fast as it came, though, it went away - he didn’t hear nobody else in the house, and those floorboards were squeaky as all fucking hell. “What’s up? You want some of this shit specifically?” jerking his head at the bathroom. “Remember though, caddy’s a land yacht with a good ride and space, but it ain’t a winnebago.”

Ali shook her head, a wan smile touching her full lips, “No, but I’ll grab out some bedlinens and extra towels too, we may need them and some blankets depending on where and when we stop to rest.” He just grunted, prompting her, and she turned the cell towards him with all its funny little icons he hadn’t learned yet. “You’re always online and the GPS is always engaged, right?”

“Eyeah, mostly, so? Well, I mean, yeah, normally, sure, just...not always, sometimes don’t wanna take calls, right?” confirming but then having to amend, biting his tongue in hopes that he didn’t add too many details, and straightened up, he tossed a couple backup rolls of shit-paper in, and began trying to shuffle out of the bath, figuring it was as done as it was gonna get. 

“...This icon stands for an app,” she tapped one icon, “it lets people know where you’re sorta at if they know your ID. Well, wait, only if they know your ID. Not everybody has theirs on private like you do, and those slobs anyone can see where they’re at... That’s what the buzz was earlier, someone was looking for your phone’s location.”

Pit dropping out of his stomach, “If they got my ID name they can see where I’m at right now? Fuck! Sign it out, turn it off! That shit’s just supposed to help me get from point a ta point b if it ain’t somewhere I’ve been before, not be some two way fuckin’ billboard!” Nick came close to surging forward and snatching the device from her in terror, ready to crush it and destroy it, flush it, anything, but that’s not how tech worked, he knew that. He still wanted to drop it on the floor and stomp it a few times for good measure. “Sign me out, for the love of god, fuckin’ a, Jerry’s got my ID!”

Ali shivered, looking up at him, “I got it, you’re signed out. But...but if they know your number, if they got the software for it, or know someone on the take who’ll dig, they can track the phone even without that. These kind are really nice, it’s just....it’s just a double-edged sword, you know?”

“Cuts on the backswing, yeah,” all but spitting the words. Bitterly, “S’what I get for tryin’ to look important and like I got nice shit of my own for once. Shoulda just kept it simple like any greasy gutter rat, instead of puttin’ on airs. Goddammit.”

Her hand was warm other than cool fingertips, and she pressed it to his cheek, instantly Nick closed his eyes, mollified, at least for a moment, soothed, when he should still be racing even faster, “Guess I should get off my duff and actually be helpful. I’d hoped we have until morning, I’m so...I’m so tired, Nicki, and you look like you haven’t had a wink of sleep in days.”

Full body twitch, he shook it off, leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers for the briefest of moments, wanting to cling to the gift of her forgiveness, but also to shout she shouldn’t touch him like he mattered, that he was just going to hurt her again if she trusted him, except he’d at least make sure she was somewhere better, somewhere safer. “Get the lead out on the shit in the living room, yeah, I’ll just start tossin’ stuff from your closet and dresser into them big ass suitcases you got, but if you move quick on the living room crap, you can nab anything in your room that I may not realize you need or somethin’, ‘kay?” Ali’s head moved, nodding, and he shuddered as she brushed his cheek again and touched her mouth to his, which came so close to driving him mad enough to risk wasting time on licking her body until it quivered. Instead, he distracted himself, her too he hoped, at least if it was necessary but she was stronger than him in that way amongst a thousand others, “I’ll be alright, we’ll get outta here, drive for a few hours until I can’t go no more, and if you catch some shuteye while I drive, then you can take over and we’ll switch off for...what...a few states?” He had to wrack his brain, “Bit south, mostly west...Pennsylvania border, I guess. Get outta Mass, through New York, and then over the Pennsylvania state line...we get over that, find a hotel on the highway, yeah? Some place with big beds, sleep all day and look at a map to get a better idea where to head.”

Earlier Ali had cried and sobbed in his arms until she collapsed, until he couldn’t stand up anymore either, they had both fallen apart and let gravity drag them to the floor, huddled and hanging on tight to the other like a lifeline. When he had begun to pull away, to try and give her some space and maybe grab her some tissues, she had yanked him back in tighter, begging him to not walk out on her, to not abandon her, say she would go with him if he let her. If _he_ **let** _her_ \- as though he had any right to deny her anything, he owed her too much, well beyond blood debt, but it was especially a damn stupid plea on her part...wasn’t it him who had been begging her to come away with him in spite of the crimes he’d perpetrated against her? She had held his face in her hands, staring at him, searching, and asked why he had shown up on her doorstep, asked if he had said goodbye to Vito or anyone else... Georgie, earlier, that hadn’t been intended as goodbye, it had just worked out that way. No, only Ali had pulled him...and she was a smart, smart woman, smartest woman he’d ever met, hell, smartest person he’d ever met...and she’d shaken her head, fresh tears welling up, saying he’d had a chance to get away without wasting time, without risking being a sitting duck even for an hour or so. She had kissed him then, soft, full kisses, lots of them, one after the other, over his face, firm too, and slow - tender, tender, so tender, like he was worth it, like he was precious to her. Then she’d managed to haul herself up and claim they should go, go right then, no matter how her gaze swept her little homey abode, saying goodbye to it, ready to flee right then and there with nothing but the clothes upon her back. Something about if he was going to risk facing her wrath after the last few days (she had hiccuped, clutched at her breast, and fought down the tumult that had threatened her again, glossing it over) and for certain very deadly wrath of Saul, amongst others, just to see her...then he must be stupidly in love with her.

What could Nicki have said to that? It was the truth. He’d just shaken his own head, said that they should have enough time to pack shit, because, well, _he_ didn’t have more than the clothes on his back and the couple changes, some old runners, that ugly Armani suit he’d worn for his swearing in, borrowed designer shoes he’d had yet to return that had pinched his toes and blistered them in the couple hours he had worn them, a few sweaters and hoodies to layer... But he had dough, fat, fat stacks of it, he had a car, but the car, like the cell, was probably gonna be a liability sooner, rather than later. He’d ditch those things as soon as he dared, for now, they’d keep. So, at least one of them should have some of their own stuff for survival, since he came to the table with almost bupkis while heading into winter. Except she’d laid those fingers of hers over his mouth, quieting that crap - which, alright, it was all true, but it wasn’t what she needed to hear. She needed to hear something more than that, more than that he was sorry, more than a plea to come away with him, more than him saying they had enough time to gather up as much of the life she’d built for herself here, she needed concrete words...so he’d said them, and each movement of his mouth had been a little kiss on her gentle fingers. Said he loved her, that it wasn’t stupid, probably the only smart thing he’d ever done, at least on his own behalf, not so smart on hers. So he’d told her that nobody had believed him important enough to be angry at his absence, to be afraid of it, to be hurt by it - generally folks couldn’t see the back of him fast enough. And while George and Vito had cared, they’d been his brothers, but they wouldn’t be _hurt_ and upset enough to plead for a single word or hint as to his safety, his whereabouts. 

Only she saw him like that, only she believed anything of him was worth such an effort or feeling. Said that sure, he loved her for that, but he also loved her for how she’d razz him, saying something that should feel nasty, but with dancing light in her eyes, a smile, and a ready touch to show him her deeds and feelings didn’t match those words even a tiny bit. Said he loved her for how, in her sleep, she hummed and rubbed her cheek against the pillow if it still had a bit of his smell on it - that sleeping with her was good. That sex with her wasn’t really sex at all, he’d had plenty of that, and whatever it was with her, wasn’t it at all. Said that before it all went to hell in a handbasket, that he’d wanted to ask Pops to at least meet her once, the one real thing in the world, so that while he was a shame to the family, he at least knew what a real woman was, and that he wanted to find out what it was like to be the kind of man she thought of him as. 

Yeah, it was real sappy crap, a spiel he could have made up on the spot to impress some hot piece if he thought it’d be a good investment for winter...shack up with a bevvy of revolving door regular broads who wanted a good lay and a good story to make them feel like he gave a damn, but switching them around often enough so he didn’t wear out his welcome. But he told Ali that too, she asked, she needed to have this from him, so he told her...told her that when it came to her, unless he meant it, believed it, it came out all fucked up outta his mouth. Admitted that when he’d bragged about the stupid caddy...that he hadn’t quite had enough cash to get a car, that he’d been flopping at wherever he could manage, George driving him around, and while he’d just managed to get a big wad of cash the few days prior to that, he’d still been functionally homeless, which he actually still was, he hadn’t had a home since he was seventeen and that had only been for a few months, because it was fourteen when he’d started his great and vast criminal career... And that it was why his stupid bragging had sounded so damned absurd, was because, well, it hadn’t been true, not even a little bit, and he hadn’t been able to make it sound as good as he could if she were someone else, instead of someone he actually _wanted_ to impress. She’d mattered, her opinion mattered, how she saw him...all that mattered from the get go even if Nicki didn’t understand why that was, and he’d been all scum tongued and idiotic, still felt that way most days, but when it was true, when it was stuff he believed, then it came out okay...or he hoped so at least, and she’d smiled, nodding that it did. 

Eventually he’d found a pause and sheepishly said that while he could probably keep flapping his lips until the second coming, if they were gonna leave, they had best actually work on that part, because if he was still yapping when whomever showed up to see if he was there, he would be like some fancy Shakespeare guy, and that while Ali sure seemed to like it and he didn’t mind saying it, he wasn’t the kind of guy who liked an audience. _Especially_ not an audience that wanted him dead and was happy to make him hurt in every way imaginable, up to, and including, harming her before his eyes. She had, thankfully, agreed that it would put a definite crimp in both their styles, so they had finally gotten cracking on the packing. And now she was packed, packed as it would get, and the things he figured would fit in his caddy were piled up at the door, waiting to be hauled down the handful of steps to the big car he had worked for and now planned to ditch soon as it was feasible. 

Behind him, Ali was looking at the half bungalow she had spent years in after her mom’s death back in ‘08, but Nicki, he was looking out the window, careful, wary. It had been a couple hours since someone had tried to search his cell’s location, plenty of time for someone to get over to Ali’s house, and while he didn’t see anybody, Nick didn’t want to trust the appearances of a fully empty street. Only Angelo and Jerry’d had Nicki’s ID for what he had believed was just another form of GPS - like, it had been useful as it was like having a little map with a little man that represented himself on it so he had an easier time navigating some areas of Boston that the likes of him wouldn’t frequent generally. Or at least the likes of who he’d been before becoming a made man with enough dough to sling around when he felt like it...when he’d been so poor a feast was when George, Jerry, or someone else, would take him out and treat him to some grub instead of the dollar value menu or snagging some almost expired sandwiches from a quick mart. But, back to the GPS with the little man program...Ali said she hadn’t been able to tell who had pinged his cell, it had been an unknown number, yet Angelo or Jerry could spill the beans as to what his ID was and Nicki wouldn’t have to confirm anyone with the program who signed in if they used Angelo or Jerry’s ID. It was all real fucking complicated and Nicki was beginning to regret not taking those computer courses in the pen, because he didn’t know diddly about what Ali was talking about. 

A hand rubbed up and down the center of his back, stroking his spine, Ali’s weight leaning up against him, “You okay, Nick?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” frowning out as he peered through the gaps in her blinds. “I just ain’t like this situation, fuck, I shoulda never risked seeing you...” Ali stiffened, and he felt her jam a finger into his side, but he reached back, grabbing her hand, squeezing it, pulling it forward to press it over his heart. “Not because I’d abandon you, not because I’d leave you, I swear...but I may have led them right here, I may’ve put you in..nah...nah there ain’t no ‘may’ about it, I _have_ put you in danger, I _have_ put you in harm’s way, and all because I can’t...”

Sharp chin in his shoulder blade, she hugged him one armed, “You can’t what? Pick up a phone and tell me to pack a few bags, that we’re goin’ on vacation to Florida?”

“What?” he glanced over his shoulder at her, nose wrinkling. “Florida’s got all them...geriatrics, an’ I for one am sick of all them fuckers.” Muttering, he leaned to the window again, scanning, “Gettin’ sworn in, y’know, it was like bein’ at a viagra convention at an old folks home that was a part time funeral parlor that smelled like olive oil that’d gone off with a layer of soiled Depends an’ formaldehyde...”

Pursing his lips, Nicki reached into his jacket, felt the holster, checked his gun quick, reflexively, he’d never had a problem pulling it, only carrying out the threat drawing a weapon meant. But he had Ali to think of, and that calmed him, it calmed every single jittery, jangly nerve, and suddenly there wasn’t any queasy, no headache, everything was crystal clear... Because it wasn’t his safety at stake, it was hers, and that was a damn good fucking reason to be aware, calm, and not trigger happy. Trigger happy and he could accidentally shoot her, shoot himself, shoot someone else, or shoot the fucking front lawn, any of which would ruin the whole point of why he had shown up at best case, at worst case, it would get her killed or harmed, and the middle of the road bad shit going down, would be the cops showing up to bust his chops. None of that was okay, and he definitely wasn’t okay with any of those outcomes - nah, he was calm, not even anxious for once in his fucking life when it came to possible confrontation. It was sort of crazy.

Coming up with a plan, even though he didn’t know if there was danger out there on the street or not, Nicki wasn’t going to risk it, and covered his bases. “Sugar, I’m gonna need you to do me a favour, I need you to sit over there -” he gestured where she wouldn’t make a silhouette in the living room, no backlighting, and she also wouldn’t have a clear view of the street, “- while I carry this stuff out.”

“Nickelo,” Ali protested, “there’s too many things to carry, you’ll be doin’ all these trips...and what if you need a hand?”

Nick turned finally, content that nobody possibly watching could see in and see what he was doing, and he took her face in his hands, spreading and tucking aside the fluffy softness of her hair that had gotten all mussy and out of her bun from earlier. “Baby, it’s just some bags, you lemme handle that. So it’s alotta trips, whatever, they’ve had a few hours to send somebody over, and we ain’t had a sign nor peep outta dem. More trips or less trips, it ain’t important, what _is_ is that if they do show, it’s me they want. And they won’t tolerate witnesses. If shit goes down, I want you to see nothin’, I want you able to identify nothin’, no reason for them to come inta the house and get you, ya hear me?”

It was in that moment that Nicki saw real and true understanding of what he had risked to come to her really and fully dawn in Ali’s expression. “Nicki...don’t...don’t you dare leave me, not you. Everybody else’s done it, but please, baby, don’t you fuckin’ dare. Your plan stinks. You move quick, you bring the caddy up close as you can to the steps, and I’ll come down with whatever you don’t haul over right now, ‘kay? You stay low in the cab, I’ll load, then hop into the passenger, and you get us gone. Less times you make a target with a clear shot, less times I gotta worry about your greastie head gettin’ an extra hole put into it before you learn how to keep the big flappin’ one closed. What would I do with you if you had another one to try and keep track of? Huh?” Nick couldn’t help a smile at her worry, at her teasing, at the little shove she gave his shoulder, “I’m serious! I swear, if you _don’t_ get that ugly guido granny mobile up close and personal with a quickness, I’ll just waltz out on my own to haul all my dumb crap you said I should take with us myself.”

Sobering, Nick sighed, knowing she would do it too - run out to do that and make a possible target of herself out in the full open if he didn’t do what she told him. And that would entirely counter the protective steps he was trying to take. “Fine,” hating how stern he sounded, “but you move quick too, yeah? No dawdlin’. Don’t waste time lockin’ up this joint either. You want it picked over, believe me, it’ll throw some trail if the goon squad shows up. Let’um think I kidnapped you or somethin’, or that I cased the place after you runnin’ off and found some kinda clue. Deal?”

“Deal,” and it was swiftly sealed with a kiss while he scooped up four bags along one arm his keyring in the hand itself so he could press the clicker, and the other hand held his gun at his side, safety clicked off. “Why’s just a few yards gotta be so far?” Ali’s voice was soft in her complaint, but it followed him outside and down the steps, her gaze on him, urgent and pleading for just a little more good luck and delays of some fucker showing up to start problems.

Nicki got into the car and it was smooth, one long pass, and nothing, it was alright. His heart was thudding hard, but steadily, his hands weren’t shaking, and while he was cranked up on wary adrenaline, there was no evidence of panic, hell, his blood pressure was probably a little low, it was so steady. The caddy hopped the sidewalk’s curb without a growl, not even a jerk, the shocks absorbing it like nothing, and he waited, teeth grit as he watched Ali haul the suitcases of her belongings that hadn’t been stuffed into bags down the steps and to the back driver’s side door. Catching her eye, he smiled reassuringly, but tight, only sparing that moment to watch her, not daring to become distracted. Two trips, and then she was hustling around to the passenger side, big, fat comforter and throw blankets gathered from the bed earlier and the sofa a chunky fluff in her embrace, and as soon as she had the door closed, not even belted in yet, Nicki swiftly did a j-turn to leave this place. 

Mirrors, all the mirrors were checked, the streets scanned, and his gun, safety still off, was in his left hand, ready, while he maneuvered using just his right, ready and vigilant to pop out some slugs in anything suspicious. It wasn’t until they were out of Ali’s neighbourhood that he finally relaxed enough to get the safety back on, to put the gun away, unencumbering himself so he could focus on picking up the roads out of Boston. After a bit, street lights swirling and flashing, casting light then shadow cascades, Ali unfastened her seatbelt, scooting to the center seat beside him, close, tight and close, but not crowding, her hand on his thigh, just...there. Just...present, no more, the faded saffron comforter draped over her curled up legs. A few dozen miles after that, the weight of her cheek was tucked against his arm, her breathing low and soothing, the smell of cinnamon red hots and whiskey on her breath, and at a red light, Nick took a moment to look at her, to see her expression having slipped into the peacefulness of sleep...complete with the little scowl she did made up of pouting lips smacking periodically, scrunched nose, and furrowed brow. 

A hint of a smile twisted his mouth, and Nick returned his focus to the process of getting them gone, grateful he wasn’t doing this alone, grateful she was being taken out of the chilly, grimy, dingy city he had once loved until he’d finally yanked the wool from his gaze...he didn’t know where they would wind up, for the moment, that wasn’t so important, just that they were leaving. Nick had a million fucking things to sort out, but they would keep at least for awhile, they could be set aside for a few hours of flight. Later he could figure it out, later he could tell her what he’d figured, and she could shoot him down or offer up a different idea. But for now, his world was...okay, it was really okay for the first time in so, so long.


	2. Chapter 2

Words were calling to hm, soft ones, fingers at his temple, twirling and stroking, and Nick tensed for a moment, eyes flying open, to see the bottom of a steering wheel, the column of it stretching down, the console to one side... 

“Baby,” soft words, soft tone, tender touch, “Nick, it’s time to wake up.”

Clearing his throat, Nick stretched his back and shoulders as he struggled to straighten up, leather creaking with it until he was finally upright. Ali’s hand trailed from his temple, down the back of his neck, to his shoulder as he had moved, and in that simple contact, the tension of initial awakening and disorientation of it, was erased. He was accustomed to waking up in strange places, strange positions, but it was startling and disconcerting to wake up to soft touches, soft words, though he’d occasionally slept deep enough that any woman he had been sleeping beside was able to get away with a bit of that before he found consciousness. By and large, even in familiar, comfortable settings, Nicki was an exceedingly light sleeper, he couldn’t say when that had started, but it was difficult to recall a time, even back when Mom was alive and he lived at home, that he slept heavily. It had kept his skin intact plenty, that light sleeping, but it did make him a very jittery bed partner, leading to a few complaints when he had been shacked up with a chick for more than a night or two.

Rolling his head to the side, vertebrae cracking, letting out a percussive snap for each one like individually crushed walnut shells, Nick raked a hand through his hair, scanning the surroundings around the caddy. Parking lot, some other vehicles, mix of family cars, a few pickup trucks, shit like that, and even though it was late morning, probably some time after the usual checkout times, it wasn’t as barren as it could have been. Probably a good thing too, enough vehicles to make the caddy’s presence blend in, but not so many customers to say the place held too many witnesses that could chance seeing he and Ali. What he didn’t like, was the fact that the hotel was one of those ones that didn’t have outdoor entries to the individual rooms. Meant he’d have to wander through halls, ones that probably had people moving at more leisurely paces to get through instead of rapid, nervous ones that drove anyone staying at the hotel to the perceived safety of their rooms. Plus indoor hallways usually meant way more surveillance cameras. As a rule, Nick didn’t care about those, but during the drive through Massachusetts and New York, he’d had plenty of opportunity to pick over the myriad levels of potential threats, their sources and come up with some idea of what he may be able to do to avoid them or limit them. 

Pennsylvania wasn’t big territory to the Family, not in any kind of notorious fashion, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be a presence, even far, far away from Pittsburg or Philly. Hotels, alright, mostly motels that weren’t big national brands, were favourite, reliable investments. Hooking could be run out of them, drugs, shit like that, as well as the more real and legit business of travellers or truckers taking a load off in a cheap bed. And no matter how crooked a motel was, no matter how seedy, they still had security cameras and tapes, never knew when something interesting for blackmail or taking out some rival may pop up... And unlike places that had outdoor walkways, the indoor halls meant that anyone walking through had to walk standing up straight, clear, relaxed, or garner deeper inspection. Outdoor walkways, no matter how many cameras were there, the rapid hustle to a room was unremarkable, and could let a guy hunch in, duck his face so it’d be hard to make out clearly. In his head, he ran the numbers, counting them fast as he could, just like figuring the odds on a gamble, and he guessed that the chances weren’t too bad that the joint wasn’t owned by anyone with ties to the Family. See, Nicki was worried that if he was noted, that maybe word would get back to where it’d give Saul a lead. It was in their best interests that Nicki wasn’t noted, or if so, it was so sporadic that it couldn’t set up any sort of definitive pattern or route. 

Ali’s fingers rubbed the fist pressed tight to his thigh, having balled it up and clenched without realizing it, yet as soon as her hand was covering his, he forced his hand to relax, and her fingers immediately wove through his, “Nick, it’s gonna be okay.”

“It ain’t like a gas station,” he grumbled. “I can’t ask you to be the one goin’ in and doin’ the payin’. They’re gonna want IDs, license plate numbers, then we’ll be walkin’ all slow through corridors with more cameras than the courthouse steps after a big hearin’.”

“Nobody’ll notice us,” she said firmly, but he knew she wasn’t certain of that. “We’re just two kids stoppin’ for the night while headin’ somewhere else.”

“Yeah, beautiful nice girl with her ginny street tough boyfriend, prolly think I’m a dealer, a thief or somethin’,” Nick grimaced, picking out the problems. “They’ll remember because someone like you shouldn’t be tied ta someone like me, that’s what they’d think. ‘Poor nice girl makin’ a bad decision, lookit that punk, he’ll use her up an’ toss her, no respect for himself, got ink all over himself, a set of job busters, nobody’d honest could hire him...’ They’ll note us, because they’d pity you an’ shake their heads over it all, tuttin’ like old biddies who ain’t know nothin’ but still think they do.”

“Nicki,” firmer, sterner, and her seatbelt clicked open, scooting and she was beside him, still holding his hand tight, her other coming to force his face towards her because he’d still been staring out the window, afraid to see any indication she agreed with that shit. Ali wouldn’t let him hide that way though, and he wouldn’t really try to resist the insistence of that touch, while he clenched his teeth, bracing for whatever she’d say, and whatever she’d show. “Nick, they can think that, but how many bad boys with good girls come through these kinds of places? They’ll remember for a day or two, then we’ll be replaced by someone else in their heads, maybe a pair similar, worse, louder, maybe some crossdresser and a nice lookin’ choir boy. Who cares? They’re probably bored, watchin’ some daytime soaps, hopin’ that not too many guests show up to interrupt their boredom and make them do some of the work they’re paid for. They’ll want us processed through fast, and then outta sight, an extra minute spared to make up some mental story, but their dumb shows’ll be better...and then we’ll be gone.”

It was funny, she was so certain that they wouldn’t be remembered, even if she wasn’t certain that they wouldn’t be noticed, even briefly. Still, it was better than nothing. Better to not be taken note of, but if that couldn’t be helped, then it was good to be forgotten, dismissed. Except whatever someone noticed, even if they forgot, something could prompt them to remember, and that’s what worried Nick. More, Ali was obviously exhausted, worn down and all that, looked wan, stressed out, dark circles under her beautiful, warm eyes - that, with the good girl, bad boy mix, may be worth remembering by anyone who saw them, as odd. 

Casting a look into the backseat, envisioning the stuff of hers that they’d transferred to the trunk, and out of the way of casual observation, “Yeah, you’re prolly right, baby. But uh...maybe you know some makeup trick that’ll make it look like we ain’t been fleein’ trouble? Like...not so upset an’ stuff.”

A light whap to his shoulder was given, her hand no longer holding his face so he couldn’t try to turn away, and she stuck her tongue out, “You sayin’ I look bad, huh, buddy?”

Laughter, okay, it was a huffing snort with some shadow of a smile, “Nah, I ain’t sayin’ that. I’m sayin’ you look like somethin’ upset you bad ‘nough that you’d drive until ya couldn’t no more, an’ I probably just look like I got scraped off a couch, hungover, but they’d expect that of someone like me...”

He had begun to haul himself out of the car while Ali went to rummage in the oversized trunk, but she’d waved him to stay inside a bit longer. Curious about what she intended, he followed the wordless directive, rolling the window down to have a smoke while waiting. Nick knew she didn’t like his bad habit, fuck, it was because of a cigarette that they met - Eric smoking too close to a door, and her telling him to knock it off, leading up to Eric calling her names...which of course got around and Eric getting threatened by Tony, hell, it was a weird domino line falling over - but she never complained. One day he’d quit, at least that’s what he told himself, but the nicotine shut his growling belly up, woke him up enough to clear his head, at least for a bit, so he could do his best to act natural when they went in... For now, it helped, he supposed, and if she didn’t complain, then he wouldn’t be forced to ditch the stuff before he was ready. He still tried to be courteous about it, though, even when driving all night, he’d roll the window down whenever he had lit up, careful to tuck the blankets up higher around her to ward off the icy air whipping into the caddy. Didn’t want her grossed out, didn’t want her too cold, and his hand hadn’t been too happy with being hung out the window except when taking a drag, but it was the price for lighting up then. Now...well, the wind that eddied into the caddy was getting a nasty icy chill, winter was very definitely on its way to shitting on them, but at least it wasn’t being exacerbated by high speeds, so he ignored the cold, and didn’t let himself wish for a few more layers on himself. He could fix all that later.

Ali scrambled back in, the blue case he had grabbed from her bathroom was shoved in front of her along the length of the bench seat, and behind her was his ancient Jansport backpack that held bits and pieces of what few personal effects he possessed. It looked lumpier and more heavily stuffed than usual, the black woven fabric of it actually didn’t cave in for once. She saw him eyeing it, “Hey, I can’t wear your clothes, they won’t fit! And I didn’t feel like fighting with one of those big cases that’s packed. So I stuffed what I’d need for tomorrow in.” She paused like it had just occurred, probably had, and she cast him a worried glance, shy, sheepish, which was the weirdest thing he’d ever seen her do, “You don’t mind, do you? I mean, I don’t want you to think I just kinda...dug into your stuff without permission...” A tiny wince, chewing her bottom lip, “Even if I kinda did do that.”

“Help yourself,” Nick shrugged, unconcerned. “Not a lot to see, definitely not much ta show or impress.” 

Her makeup bag was being manipulated and used, sorted, dug through with a few muttered curses interrupting, “You spend how much on a caddy with it’s fancy letha seats -” her goofy impression of him popping out, and he couldn’t help another flash of amusement, a smile she didn’t see, but it lightened him anyway, “- and you don’t get yourself new clothes? Not even new shoes or something?”

Nicki thought a moment, hummed in curious yet unsurprised admission, “Nope. I figured I’d pick up a heavier jacket soon, ah, yeah, an’ I got some jockeys, couple packs of socks, an’ couple undershirts, just replacin’ what needed it at that moment. Got the boots resoled last summer, an’ replaced the doc’scholes few weeks ago. Uhhm...” He wracked his brain, shrugged again, “I pretty much dress the same day in, day out, so don’t need alotta different pieces I guess. But the caddy, well...it just...”

Ali was using the visor’s mirror, daubing crap from bottles onto her skin, and there was a green stick she smeared over still red tinted cheeks, the dance sort of weirdly graceful, but also, well, weird in general that she’d put so much goop on. “The caddy what?”

“I dunno, it don’t seem so important now, I gotta figure out where ta ditch it. Maybe trade it in somewheres for a few bucks or a different car, maybe sell it quick at a dealer, yeah, then nab a different car that’s less I dunno...” he shifted around, uncomfortable. “Less greaster dream car, more...handmedown mom car. Like a station wagon or a minivan. Hard workin’ soccer mom tossin’ her kid best wheels she can, unassumin’. Only gangsters an’ old bastards drive caddys like this, right? An’ we’re not old, so that leaves gangster, an’ that’s not too good. So...yeah. A car that looks like a beater but still runs good.”

Her motions halted, and she focused her attention on him, which made him squirm like a kid being put to the question over some ruined flowerbeds. “The caddy what, Nicki?”

“Aw, fuckin’ a, Ali, it really ain’t important,” he sighed. But Nick still fessed up, struggling to put it into words, “I dunno, it was proof of who I was, what I’d done. Like a big sign that said I was part of the Family, a made man. Yeah, you always hear ‘bout a badge or a pin or some crap, but it ain’t how it goes.” He held up his hand, the scar on his index finger a pale whisper in the callused pad, “That’s it. That’s all the mark is. Easy to overlook, or to pass off any old accidental knick as a proof. I was so sick of nobody takin’ me seriously that I thought the caddy, nice as all the ones the higher ups got, steps up from the other guys who also all had caddys... I thought it’d be somethin’ to announce it, proof, an’ a demand that they at least gimme my dues in that way.”

Mix of flesh tone pastes half dried on her own fingertips took his hand, bringing it in close enough for her to examine the barely there mark. The scars all over his knuckles, his wrists, backs of his hands, up his forearms? Those were thousands of times more impressive, showing him to be a fighter. That little cut? It was nothing, it didn’t hint at nothing, it didn’t prove nothing. 

“It means you killed someone?” she grew up exposed to that sort of world, she knew the stories, knew what they all said. Didn’t stop her from asking, he supposed.

“That’s what it was supposed to mean, yeah,” a bolt of shame shot through Nicki. It was always the same, that shame, except at first it had been over the fact he hadn’t pulled the trigger, that he’d been too chickenshit to do it, and that George had covered his ass and saved his bacon doing it for him. Now it was shame that he had wanted that mark. “But I didn’t. I mean, I pulled the trigger later, I killed -” he paused, the waterfall halting enough for him to have time to substitute a different word than Tony, “- an’ I ain’t proud of it. But I didn’t kill when I’d said I’d done it. It wasn’t until after I got sworn in that I whacked anyone. Was a fake, a fraud, an’ whether they knew it or not, whether I let myself acknowledge it consciously, I wasn’t never gonna be one of them, because I wanted ta belong to somethin’, ta some idea, yeah? I just wanted people I could rely on, belong to, be respected by... The caddy was, I guess, it’s y’know, me sayin’ that they’d better make way, that they’d better deliver on their end of that deal,. but that if they didn’t, at least folks on the street would...”

“Did it work?” that answer should be obvious, but the prompt was there, and Nick couldn’t avoid it.

“Nope,” saying it aloud finally. “It didn’t work. There I was, only member under forty-five, no need for little blue pills ta prop me up with young things like they all prolly need. Young things they’d hafta buy or bully or awe with how powerful they were. Me, youngest in twenty years prolly, healthy, not totin’ around a potbelly fulla wine and pancetta, not needin’ to use my status to pick up broads that otherwise would never touch me. Smarter than them, too,” and he wasn’t bragging. “They’re all so old school they didn’t think ‘bout runnin’ credit cards to rake in cash so fast, an’ if done right, spread out, so it don’t put bees up folks skirts, even if it’s obvious there’s more numbers runnin’ in Boston than the year before. No thought on how ta keep up with how shit changes, I mean, lookit me, I can barely work a cell, let alone do more than type in a question on Google, but these slobs, they just look at bookies, moneylendin’, stripjoints, and gamblin’. Sure, reliable, but the sources of dirty plunder they could gather, have gotten way more diverse, yeah?” Nick shook his head, disgusted, but at what, he couldn’t be for sure - the old ideas, himself, a thousand other things? “Problem is, is that those routes they been travellin’ for decades, they’re predictable, an’ can lead to violence so easy because of one stupid move. The boys in blue, the fed too prolly, they know where ta look if they want some fish ta fry an’ show off, because the old school shit’s easy to spot. If they had diversified, if they’d spread out what venues they pulled from the way I was doin’, no biggie, yeah? Less bodybags, more dough, less counts for the same old crimes as fifty years back...”

“And they didn’t listen?” Bits of her makeup had smeared onto his hand, and the fullness of raspberry lips was on his oft busted, cherry red on way too pasty white knuckles. “They didn’t listen to you at all?”

“Nope, but they liked the bags stuffed with bucks I’d squeezed out from places they hadn’t bothered lookin’ or payin’ attention to, stuff in their backyard, shit next door,” Nick threw his finished cigarette far from the caddy, out the window, frustration in the jerky, violent movement. “Nah, when I’d try ta point somethin’ out, even when it was in line with the way they’d always done things but were too lazy to have acted on, they’d tell me ta be quiet, hustle on to somewhere else, find a girl to screw or a bottle to drink, have a good time, live it up, but don’t fuckin’ talk, don’t fuckin’ use my brain at all, that was their job, the thinkin’.” One handed he fished for his pack of smokes, but Ali got to it before him and he flinched, surprised, except she was listening, hearing him, and was more interested in that than a tiny moue of dislike for the menthol laced tobacco’s stink. Puffing as he lit up quick, sucking air through his teeth, “So, no, none of it worked, an’ I definitely didn’t get any respect..”

“What did you get, busted chops and some green?” brow beetled, reaching for understanding, either of his actions or the situation, or just him in general, Nick hoped it was all three, but was happy to accept any of those three possible reasons for digging.

There was a bit of brown stain on the white wrapper of his smoke, bit of nicotine that had gotten through, as he stared at it, mulling and weighing, looking not so much at the tube, but at things he hadn’t examined before, not square. “I got fear.” Amending, head tilting to the side, “More fear. I’m that guy people with nice things studiously ignore if forced to pass by me or share space for a second, hopin’ I won’t notice them an’ take whatever I can grab from them, whatever nice shit they got on them. Or, if it’s a broad, one of those who thinks she’ll get raped or some shit by just any fuckin’ dude walkin’ around, but especially if it’s a dude who looks like some punk offa a crime serial...those’ll tense up, an’ speed up, maybe move to a different side of the street, actin’ like I ain’t there, but ready ta shank me with the keys they’re clutchin’. I’ve gotten some of that reaction since I was a kid, because it kept me safe from those bigger’n me who wouldn’t feel nothin’ bad ‘bout beatin’ on an easy target. So, I made myself look like one they shouldn’t bother with...”

Ali returned to making herself look less fatigued, but Nick saw the rapid flutter of her lids, the lashes clumpier than a moment ago, and the sadness in her words was heavy, pervasive, belying the seeming change of her attention. “You became too dangerous for the ones who’d do it to mess with, but also too dangerous for other folks to be around if they had a choice. Is that what ya mean?”

“Mph, yeah, I guess so,” agreeing. “Regular folks got regular lives, they only need a little tough to dissuade, they move through the situations quick, they don’t need to linger, right? But me...I ain’t have no choice but to linger, no place ta go to let me be regular, until all the regular in me was gone. And they know that,” he gestured a wave at the world at large, unconcerned, the pain he’d buried deep over that only bothered him when it pertained to how fucked up it made things with Ali. “An’ then I got my badge, word got ‘round to the right people, and even if they ain’t got word of it, ain’t know the right folks to hear it from, the caddy told them that I was even less regular than I’d been before. Before, I was a thug on my own, small time, but the caddy that shouts out made man, Family, meant I was personally small time still, but had backup, who knows what I could do on a whim? So I got folks suddenly pullin’ back in a crowd as I walked. Got freebies when I went out. Got all kinds of little bits an’ pieces, that, at the time, felt weird but kinda good...” He fell quiet, and didn’t realize what was going on until Ali had once more stopped the makeup, but she appeared to be finished with it, but her thumb was smearing away hot moisture from his cheek where salty hurt had leaked from his eyes. “They were buyin’ me off, Ali. Like sacrifices or prayers or some shit to some violent, angry god who’d like, you know, be like from legends, that needed to be appeased so that all the shit they valued and worked for, wouldn’t be thrashed for fun.” Words thick in his throat, “Fear ain’t respect, it’s just fear.”

Used to be that the kids in the neighbourhood would sometimes be playing soccer and he could freely stand back and watch, maybe kick the ball around with them a little to hear them laugh, or bounce it on his head, some little tricks like that. But after he’d bought the caddy, the kids ran away, or they’d keep playing for a bit, but then as soon as they could, would leave, their heads likely filled with extra dire warnings from caring mothers who’d taken note of the change in Nick’s status. Used to be that back in the neighbourhoods he’d wander when not able to figure out where to point his feet, or some low level job to make some cash, he would get a few nods or a wave from people outdoors, generally old folks, or maybe a housewife or two. But after the caddy, after the fear had exploded, he was a monster to them, anathema, shunned, not searched out, but if he’d gone up to them, they hadn’t dared to turn away lest they make him mad. What tiny bit of acceptance he’d managed to have gathered even when most folks looked down on him, had vanished.

“They didn’t do a good job on your finger,” Ali said, hauling him back to his spot in the car, legs crammed up even though his seat was pushed as far back as it would go compared to the driver’s side, that was pulled up close to the wheel as it could get to deal with Ali’s short legs. Her hand was on his neck, spreading and pushing aside the collars of his jacket and the couple shirts he wore under it, and there was goop being mooshed onto the ink of his tattoo. “Betcha in a few months, it’ll go away almost all the way. And whatever you decide to do with this sailboat on wheels that drives like a damned barrel, all that swaying back and forth when I turn is enough to make me wanna hurl...then those signs that only got people more afraid of you, made you more outcast, do you think that people’ll stop being afraid?” 

Hitched shoulder, taking a drag, head tilted to give her the best access to his neck, unsure of her intent, but it couldn’t be a bad thing even if whatever it was supposed to do, didn’t work. “Prolly not. But they’ll have less reason, less things they can point at that say what I may or may not be. It’ll be a few things less stacked against me in the columns regular people would measure my threat level by. Maybe it’ll even cause one or two to wait a bit, see some more before judgin’ me.” Not that it was important, really, it wasn’t. “I mean, okay, sounds like I want ta be regular, maybe? But I don’t, not really. I look at that idea, an’ it’s a could have been, not a what I want now. To get anywhere near close to it, I’d hafta become someone else entirely, I wouldn’t be me at all, not even a little bit. But the deal the way I see it, the deal is, is that if they’re willin’ to wait and see me as a little less likely to cause murder an’ mayhem, then they’re more likely to be good towards you, to let you be friends with them. If I’m supposeta be a crazy punk, then I’d probably be crazy enough to cap or harass anyone who makes friends with my girl, right? They wouldn’t wanna risk it, but if I don’t seem quite that bad off...”

“Nickelo, I’ve been making friends on my own since I was a little girl,” exasperated. “You’re a big guy, you’re imposing, sure, you’re way more dangerous than most people ever come across. But you’re _also_ the biggest goofy ginny, I mean, Nicki - you _snort_ little oinks when you giggle! For Pete’s sake - you _giggle_. If I make some friends and tell them that sorta stuff, it humanizes you to them, even if they’re the kind of losers whose knees knock in fear of some random guy walkin’ down the street mindin’ his own business. I don’t want you worried about this, beating yourself up, just...” Earnestly while more dabs and pats and smears were going on, eyes on that, “Just relax. All of that stuff you’re worried about will keep until we get to it. We’ll toss the car, get a Camry or a Taurus or something like that that nobody ever looks twice at. The scar on your poor, abused little finger that never caused nobody the kind of trouble it said it did, will go away. Right now, those are the only kinds of tomorrow goals we gotta worry about. Right _now_ we just gotta worry about managing to book a room, get some showers or sleep, then we can wake up and worry about the next direction to go. No more borrowin’ trouble that won’t happen at least for a month or two, you listening to me Nikelo Tortano?”

All those words, all that spilling his guts to her, and he felt like some massive weight had been removed, shifted...or at the very least, a chunk of the weight on the gigaton anvil that he was struggling to not be smashed by, had been removed. How many times was he going to be relieved before there wasn’t anymore shit holding him down? Nicki heaved that sigh of relief, and got pursed lips, raised brows and Ali inspecting him with that no nonsense expression, waiting to hear confirmation that his ears weren’t all stuffed up with wax and not paying attention.

“Yeah, yeah I hear you, Ali Montezano,” bottom lip tightening on a smile, another of those little ones that had come since he woke up, it was just too bad he was too tired to really put the force of his emotion into it, the muscles of his face hadn’t the energy to express it all. “You gonna keep grabbin’ my head an’ yankin’ it back down from the sky where it keeps tryin’ ta float off to? Gettin’ all outta this world, tryin’ to scout too far ahead?”

A shake of her head, makeup bag forcefully shoved into his backpack, “Nick, sometimes I wonder about you, you’ve got more brains and words than half the guys who graduated from college and came to drink at the bar.”

“Oh yeah? Is that so?” 

“You know it,” and the caddy’s keys were held out to him, and she clambered out, door thudding, and Nick followed. “What?” she caught his look. “What you wanna hear me say it? That you’re a smartass on all the levels, no college necessary? Big words, big ideas, most guys I know barely used the daily four-hundred -” Lips pursed, she explained before he asked, “Library of words a person knows and uses all the time throughout the day. Some study said that the average American had four hundred used every day, but eight hundred words they knew how to use in their vocabulary. It was a bit fuzzy on the hard facts though.” He came around to the front of the caddy, and smiled at her as Ali patted and smoothed down his jacket front like it was some fancy suit with lapels, an intimate motion he liked. He liked it _a lot_. If the way her expression turned to dazzling sparkles was any indication, Nick figured she could tell. “You got a big mouth that you flap like it’s going outta style, but at least you got thousands of different words to use when making up your fanciful images and analogies that your brain just paints in broad crazy strokes, instead of like those idiots who talked about their degrees while hitting on me like their english lit degree was impressive. That’s like the lowest level of commitment possible degree! It’s like a cracker jack prize!” She reached up, tapping between his brows, “You big lummox, you got a dictionary up here and museum of funky modern art to go with it.” With every bit of praise, Nick couldn’t help the broadening of his grin, the snorted chuckles huffed out this way and that, and that just seemed to egg Ali on, but she finally stopped, giving him a side eye, “Is that what you wanted to hear, Mr. Smartass?”

It made him sound like a goofy little kid, that brief huhn-huhn snort laugh, but it’s what came out, and Nicki didn’t care, as he nabbed the backpack from her and tossed it over a shoulder, “Way more than that, I like it, if that’s what you actually think ‘bout me.”

XXX

It wasn’t the penthouse at one of the more upscale Marriotts, but it sure wasn’t a motel rickety coin operated bed sort of room either. The typical uniform requirements all hotels and motels abided by (to varying degrees of quality) was there, tiny coffeemaker that was useless, bureau with drawers that never got used, half closet, bed, couple lamps with ugly shades, some sort of table-desk with a chair that, if it was like every other chair hotels bought, would promise to be god awfully uncomfortable. Plastic ice bucket, real glasses but Nick knew the housekeeping trick of using windex to make the glass sparkle and look clean, so he wasn’t going to touch _that_ if thirsty, he’d drink straight from the faucet, lime sediment be damned. Slippery tub shower combo, and a dozen scratchy white towels of mixed sizes that some devil must have designed for the singular purpose of scraping off a human being’s flesh if used thoroughly enough to get fully dry. There was a nice tv on the dresser though, if that was important. Probably was for lonely guys buying the overpriced views of really, really shitty pay-per-view porn. (Or couples trying to play out seedy fantasies looking for excitement, oh yeah, these kinds of things were pretty basic and standard everywhere.)

And yet it was actually nicer than he had thought to look for on his own. Then again, if Ali hadn’t been with him, he would have just slept in the caddy... He wanted her to be comfortable, safe, a roof over her head, living by some human standards that meant some kind of respect and self-worth existed. Yeah, Nick knew he would have to figure out how to think that way about himself too if they were going to make it, the questions on when he’d last bought clothes and stuff like that for himself hadn’t escaped his notice. He would have to upgrade somehow, even if it was just a little, otherwise they would be too different, and that tended to catch people’s eyes... Plus, well, Ali would probably try to do without if he did without too much himself, even if for him it was just habit and not purposefully denying himself things.

The drive so far had given him a few ideas, no matter how drained to dregs he’d been, and he had only let himself switch off for a bit of shuteye for a few hours, so wasn’t anywhere near rested. In spite of that, he’d come up with some possibilities to toss back and forth with Ali, but only after they’d both gotten some actual sleep. Shoving all that out of his brain for a bit, Nick worked on getting himself out of jackets and shirts, gun set aside, though that would wind up on the built in nightstand soon enough. 

Checking Ali’s position in the mirror, down to his undershirt, she was sitting on the end of the bed, watching him, chin on a fist, her free arm draped over her knees. Raising a brow sharply, philosophical about it, “You seen it all before, Ali.”

“Shush you, I ain’t wanna hear it, I seen lots of nice things plenty of times, but I still like seeing them, even if I saw it a dozen times before,” tongue stuck out and blowing briefly. 

“You want me ta shimmy while I’m at it?” snickering he gave a quick wiggle, even spun the black stretchy cotton of the Hanes tank around his finger a couple times. 

Ali clapped a few times, whistling a little, then exploding into laughter, “Ohh, sexy guy, huh? I didn’t know I’d get a real floor show...” 

Rolling his eyes, Nick set it aside, step-toeing the heels of his boots, which he definitely shouldn’t do to remove them, but he wanted them off for real and quick, so didn’t take the care he should. Taking the two steps to get closer, he tugged on Ali’s hand, pulling her up, “Okay, your turn, I wanna unwrap you.”

As though she intended to say something smart, her lips parted, but Nick ran his thumb along the side of her jaw, fingers curling in a stroke from cheek to her neck. That quietness had come back in full force, and that slow surge of something inside him that originated Christ only knew where, moved until it filled Nick from head to toe as he touched Ali with what he hoped bore some resemblance to the tenderness she used on him sometimes. The deepest, darkest, enigmatically brown eyes he had ever seen going wide as they had each time Nick found her up against him like this, and there was a puff of a whispered gasp. Whatever was there, she watched him as he watched her, watched his fingers trailing over round cheek, to jaw, and tracing the lips he often saw her apply some gloss to that made her first kisses taste like peppermint or strawberries, once like root beer another like coffee... Layer by layer, scarf, jacket, sweater, shirt, another shirt...if he wasn’t so lost in the achingly slow process, Nick probably would have joked that she had been wrapped up like a mummy. The thought was only in the back of his mind, it didn’t even get close to coming out of his mouth as he finally lifted the heather grey cami he thought the kind of shirt was called, over her head, leaving her in bra and bottoms. 

Licking his lips, parched suddenly for a taste of hers, he ducked in, and the kiss was laced with the flavour of melon from the sticky stuff that kept Ali’s lips from the typical chapping caused by the harsh winds of the northern USA. That almost broke him, the sensation of Ali’s hands spreading over his chest, reaching and sliding up to his neck, and he caught them before they were in his hair, before he forgot that he should show her in the way he could, how he felt. Sure, words came free when she asked, sure he’d done deeds, but this was a little different maybe. A moan in his ear, and Nick shuddered, savouring it, his mouth finding its way to her neck. Round top of shoulder, golden peach tinted skin from her Italian heritage was interrupted by a pale rose strap, and that was tasted too, fingers catching on the strap, moving to the back to explore, and found the hooks he’d expected weren’t there. But that would keep in that case, and Nick slowly sank to a squat, open mouthed kisses left in the wake. Waistband of stretchy pants that clung to her legs like second skin, were made to look like denim, but were more like leggings, and those were tugged and smoothed down her, and he tipped his head back, watching her, and this time when she slid hands through his hair, he didn't stop her.

Long passes, up and down, around, calves, thighs, her cute ass, to her back and belly, Nick ran his hands over her, leaning in to rest his mouth at the intent of her navel, staring up at her, hoping she could see through him now too like she seemed to do so easily in general. A hand flew to her mouth, a breath lost, and lashes blinked and fluttered rapidly before a tremulous smile was shared with him, her hand returning to him, short nails skimming the line of his oft broken nose then to his brows, cheeks, forehead, temples... Nicki supposed that meant she saw? Reinforcing it, he kissed her stomach a few times, not breaking the thing between them, not even by blinking. Finally rising, Ali’s hands urging, tugging him up lightly, Nick swept her panties down, panties that didn’t match the bra she was wearing, they were some kind of electric yellow with smiley face marks in black on them, helping her step free, then he was rising, hoisting her up simultaneously with the motion. She wasn’t light as some feather, there was muscle beneath the softer curves, and strong legs snapped around his waist hanging on with undeniable force, and he couldn’t help a snort, which got him a kiss before he thumped her down onto the bed. 

Arching over her, following, knees planted into the dipping mattress, fingers brushing aside loose hair, “I ain’t gonna ever walk out on you, Ali, I’m here long as you lemme be.”

A lean up, brief surge into him, Ali’s mouth was on his, and there wasn’t anything sweeter than the taste of her tongue pressed to his, and when the press of hungry mouth began to pull away, she whispered, husky and roughened by whatever she was feeling, “I believe you, and I won’t send you away.”

The hook he had been searching for to her bra was between the shallow, spread valley of breasts he hadn’t gotten around to having his way with, and so as to not risk saying anything that may screw up the gift she was allowing him - a promise he wouldn’t hold Ali to, but the very idea of it sent earthquakes through him - he kept his mouth from yammering and instead spent more minutes kissing. Sort of strange that he could spend hours kissing Ali and be happy about it, it was fulfilling in a way that made little sense to him. It wasn’t so important, or at least the why of it, and busy with that, he finally got the front latch of the bra open, having only slight trouble with the unfamiliar type. Against his mouth, there was a disgruntled growl, and he quickly pulled back, worried, but she was holding the bra tight to her breasts.

“Ali?” 

She made a face, trying to one handed get the bra back together without letting the cups slip free, “I know they’re tiny, okay?! I just...you know, they’re disappointing and not even enough for your hands... So the bra stays on!”

Nick had no idea where that came from, and was more insistent on releasing whatever was there. He didn’t care about breasts, nice as they were, it was just that, well, he couldn’t really kiss all of her if her boobs were imprisoned, right? “Baby, Ali,” fingers working their way under the bottom edge of fabric, “it’s you, why the fuck would that disappoint me? Big tits, little tits, medium tits, no tits...whatever, it ain’t important. I just wanna kiss you all over, alright? No way you could be disappointin’, so you stop that.”

Debate was a flickering trip of her eyes weighing his expression, all over his face, before she let loose an unhappy sound but relented. “Don’t say it’s false advertising,” warningly, defensive. 

Bra gone, there were silicone squishy bits to fluff and boost or whatever, to create a larger bustline. Careful to not react one way or the other, because, really, Nicki didn’t care, he tossed it all back towards the pile of her clothes on the floor, unconcerned. He took a moment to run fingers and his own gaze over her small chest, then genuine, or more genuine, pleasure was in his expression, because he found the best damn surprise he’d ever had in his life.

Thumb rolling over one chubby pebble, it was like a gumdrop, and he grinned, “Fuck, Ali, that’s freakin’ beautiful.” Before she could grumble, his mouth replaced thumb, and he groaned, the fat little nub tickling his tongue as he licked and suckled, muttering around it, “Love’um, better not hide ‘um again. Fuckin’ hell you’re gorgeous.”

However long he spent switching from one breast to the other, tasting, licking, sucking, and nipping everything around them he could get, really kind of wasn’t important at all. Not all women really liked their tits played with, too sensitive, not sensitive enough, different strokes for different folks. Ali liked it though if her gasps and helpless giggles, fingers digging into his shoulders or clutching his hair said anything, and he was completely cool with complying. Nick only stopped because he smelled how hot her pussy had gotten from the play, and it wasn’t so much that he _stopped_ he just moved down further where she sure seemed to want him bad. It was where he wanted to go, too, to fill up on that smell and taste until she couldn’t take anymore. Nick lost himself to it, listening to Ali’s sounds, her babbled nonsense, to feeling delicate flesh roll and slick under his mouth, his tongue, pliant and rich places to explore, plunder. He was probably about as loud as she was, he couldn’t help himself, there was just something so good about Ali’s pussy and pleasing it, and thereby her, that he couldn’t think beyond that existence. 

It was a physical ordeal to pry himself away when she was whimpering and calling for him, tugging at his shoulders best she could, or at his hand she had grabbed some point, or maybe he had grabbed hers, needing to have that extra contact, that extra tanglement that was fingers and palms pressed to one another. Ali was scooting back on the bed, the comforter all bunched up and scrunched this way and that from the writhing she had been doing while he’d hungrily gone at finding out every nook and cranny, and dedicated himself to finding and tasting the best parts that made her cry out and gush the most. The effort required to not just grab her legs and yank her back down so he could plant his face in the darkened blonde-brown, trimmed thatch was almost as monumental as breaking away, and Nick rocked back, dragging the back of his hand over his mouth, and some niggling part of him worried he was looking at her too hard, staring like the rough creature he was at something he wanted to stake claim to. Except he couldn’t manage to not stare at her like that, his belt flipping and pried open by hands that fought his will, which was to get his pants the fuck off of himself, rather than make a grab for Ali, who was watching him, licking her lips, and that soft moan she made as he managed to shove his trousers away finally, the belt clanging to itself as the whole batch was thrown with the amount of desperation that was all he had left in him... 

She wanted him, Nick knew that, but to _see_ it, the way she popped up close to him, on her knees, that desperate moan of her own when she’d looked him over head to - well, knee - was a fucking powertrip and a half. To smell it, to see it, to hear it, and when he licked his own lips in reflex, the sharp salty reminder that was the _taste_ of that want, oh yeah, there wasn’t anything else that awe inspiring and need inducing than that. It took every ounce of self control to wait for Ali to come closer, to reach for him herself, to caress his shoulders, down his arms, as Nick found enough presence of mind to not reach out first. He was just one slip from going too hard, too far, too fast, too relentless, if he acted first. It wasn’t so different from the anger he had leashed and learned to use, focusing it into stillness that terrified any chucklehead stupid enough to start in on him... Except this wasn’t anger, nowhere near it, it was need, yeah, it was that, it was want, it was a big assed ball of emotions he couldn’t begin to pick out, and the only way to balance it all was to not react, to not move, to wait it out. Good fucking Christ, he wanted Ali, wanted to go after her until he probably broke something in his body, like one of those funky looking aliens from Star Trek that thought a good screwing required at least one partner sporting bite marks and broken bones...No way, no how, would he do that to Ali though, so he held still, body trembling under her palms and fingers gliding over the plains of his arms and then closer, to his torso, his back briefly, while she drank him in with her eyes, all of him, then focusing up on his face, searching him for something else, but he didn’t know what.

“Nick,” air caressing his name, and he obeyed the guiding to twist, to turn and lay on the bed, and Nicki clutched the bedding as he sucked in a gulp of air, gradually winning his fight with self-control. Meaningless shapes were tapped and drawn with a light touch, Ali’s equally animalistic want shifting, changing as she did so, until what he saw reflected was so much, and so much there weren’t words for, or at least ones he knew. “Nick, Nick, Nick... I gotcha, baby.”

Swallowing and managing a nod, “Good.”

Smooth thigh slithered and stroked its way over his hips, Ali following in a graceful, artful, beautiful and comfortable move, until she was straddling his waist, the sodden hair of her pussy was all wet and scratchy soft sweet where it pressed to him, her hands mapping and remapping the shape of his stomach and chest. He could smell her all over him, and he wanted to roll in that fresh hungry satisfied perfume like one of those cats he’d seen on a video that got dumped into a pile of catnip. Waiting for a moment more, caressing him with earth shattering sweetness, that paired with everything else, and then it was the long shift, the splitting and parting fuzzy lips of her pussy, to even more drenched and delicate flesh, until the agonizingly needy part of him was being worked into that tight channel that had welcomed him before, and was doing so once again with a softness and slickness unlike anything else in Nick’s world. 

Tipping his head back, eyes snapping closed on the groan as Ali drew him in deeper and deeper down to the base of his cock, “Oh god.” 

Satisfied humming, a smooth roll of hips, and Ali’s weight came over him, pressing herself close, “Oh...Nicki, Nicki...you’re the beautiful one.”

Able to move, able to trust himself that much at least, Nick wrapped an arm around Ali, holding her close, secure, encouraging that nightmarishly exquisite torture of slipping along him, her hips rolling with it, and he choked, “Why’s it different with you, Ali?” Hand to her cheek, cupping it, “What’re we doin’ that makes it like this?”

Sweet, sweet words, confusing words, words read in books, seen on tv and in movies, heard from a few folks looking for leverage, poured into his ear, hot moisture leaking from his eyes that was tenderly wiped away, Ali’s lips on his, eyes, body, everything entwined even if he couldn’t make himself do more, “I’m making love to you, Nicki.”

It was too small a description but he accepted it as close enough, because Nick had nothing else to call it himself, so Ali was probably right. Nodding, rolling his own hips up with the slow, slow, beautifully, tenderly, intensely slow, thorough rhythm she set, “Wanna make love to you, too, Ali.”

Motion, press of mouth, sweep of tongue and she shivered in his arms, probably tasting herself when kissing him, “Nick, Nick you always do.”


	3. Chapter 3

They spent a day and a half at the hotel, resting, thinking, and looking over a tourist type of map that Ali had nabbed from the hotel lobby. Occasionally they had ventured out to chow down at the all night diner across the parking lot, too. If their asses hadn’t been in a bind, it actually would have been pretty damn pleasant. Avoiding the bastions of criminal activity were pretty much the general gist, so the northern east coast was out of the question, Chicago would be too, but cities were still good places to lay low, cities drew people from all different places, smaller towns would be wary or make note of those hailing from nowhere nearby. Really other than north, west, and south-ish were the best general direction they had to go on. Somehow they would have to find a way to research the roads and places before them, and cut off from his customary sources of information within the criminal element, Nicki wouldn’t be any use in that regard. Oh he could probably roll through a place, spot someone of that clique and no doubt ask a few questions, suss out the lay of the land, but that required a level of risk that they both agreed wasn’t anything they wanted to deal with. Not because word may travel, but because his own kind of people may make trouble, seeing him as similar to themselves but outsider, and so not granted much courtesy. That left them with Ali’s suggestion, one delivered as she scarfed on some big ass skillet of hash scramble with chunks of ham and veggies that had been brought to their table and was twice the size of her head, he’d swear on it...a laptop with internet, but where they’d get one, well, Nicki wasn’t so sure on that. Didn’t internet mean addresses and billing? But it was what they had to go off of. 

The other thing, it was one he’d come up with after having put the stuff Ali had explained together and giving his brain time to stew on it, and it had to do with his cell’s tracking. Before they left the hotel, Nick had turned it on, making certain it was as charged as possible, erased everything personal off of it, then turned on the tracking, put it on silent, and shoved it in the boot under the carpet covering the spare wheel of a crown vic that had been in the parking lot. It would receive those search calls and display ‘his’ location, laying a false trail. Yeah, it was a nasty thing to do to the owner of the white ‘vic, but even if they were chased down and tracked, any member of the goon squad would realize immediately that the people with that car weren’t the ones they were looking for. Even the stupidest punk would take at least a minute to case the car and its owner before acting... At least Nick hoped so, and he squashed any twinge that may worry otherwise. This was survival, nothing personal at all.

He would miss the GPS, so far they’d done without it, just following the highway, it just made him nervous to not have any idea what was up ahead. 

Increasingly strong winds rocked the caddy as they drove, the temperatures steady in their decreasing, the Indian summer days a thing of weeks ago. Nicki may have the massive nose of the caddy pointed towards the south, but that brought more moisture which meant ice could form on the roads, and if the local municipalities weren’t real swift on the uptake, the highways could be pretty treacherous. Bad drivers were a problem too, but Nick kept to careful mindset, refusing to give into his usual lead foot. Better to be one of those super proper drivers who went no more than five miles over the speed limit if speeding at all, unaggressive and patient, since he didn’t want to catch any kind of patrolman’s notice. Really, he didn’t know what to do about ditching the caddy - he could hotwire most any car, stealing one wouldn’t be difficult, except stolen cars caused their own problems. Selling the caddy, which was his real inclination, meant replacing it with a legally purchased one, but there would be registration and tags that needed to be changed out...and that meant having an address. Which was still going to be a problem. 

Beside him, Ali perked up, straightening, having caught sight of something, and from the corner of his eye, she was kinda like a kid, pressing close to the window, peering outwards.

“What’s up, baby?” he asked, thoughts pausing for the moment, the ugly mottled grey of midday sun and sky a dreary backdrop. “You need somethin’?”

She cast him a smile, then returned to her peering, “Five exits up ahead, take the offramp.”

Brow up, waiting for more information, gunning the engine enough to merge into the slow lane from the center, “What’s up there?”

“You’ll see,” hand reaching back to run along the length of his arm in an easy caress.

Probably food or a break to hit a can, except they’d filled up only twenty miles ago, stretched legs, and grabbed bottled water, even gone through a drive-up Starbucks because she had wanted one of those seasonal kinds, and a few slices of lemon cake because it was freaking tasty stuff, even he’d admit that. If she didn’t wanna say, he’d just humour her, life worked out better that way. Besides, not like Nick had a preference one way or the other, so long as they were safe, warm, fed, and had the ability to remain all the above, that was all he really was focused on. Beyond those things...? Ali could make those decisions as far as he was concerned. 

About fifteen minutes later, following her directions, they came upon one of those enormous outlet mall places, ones that catered to folks wanting name brand but deep discount. Sort of like overglorified malls, just sprawling willynilly in the outdoors, and with the weather being full of off and on icy rain, there weren’t a whole lot of shoppers. Definitely more than he would expect, all things considered, but apparently bargain hunters weren’t going to be dissuaded by some mediocre weather...they _were_ in the north after all, and the universal truth was that the weather was to be ignored whenever it was nasty, and warily enjoyed when it was nice. 

First stop was some storage-luggage store, that made complete sense to Nick, and as soon as they’d made their purchases, they had hustled back to the caddy, and began to stuff those nice duffles, suitcases and the like, with her things. Caddy contents rearranged swiftly, the adult game of Tetris was no longer so easy, because luggage was shapes and stuff, while garbage bags could be shoved and crushed into corners. Still, that’s what the duffles and other soft sided bags were used as instead, and then they were hitting up the food court, chowing down on some cheese steaks, big ass hotdogs, and some soft pretzels slathered in enough mustard to make him happy, while Ali laughed at him, kissing away some of the sauce that got left behind on the corner of his mouth. Next store she hauled him off to was electronics, and he about lit up when she showed him a GPS that would mount on the dash or window, even if it was considered an outdated style. It wasn’t really fancy, basically just a set of satellite maps and no worries over someone tracking them, unless it was the feds and they’d need a reason and a warrant for that sorta shit. Laptop was snagged at that place too, and a few doors over, while hunching their shoulders against gusts of wind tunneling and breezing through the walkways, they hoofed into some other kind of snazzy place, where their electronic goodies were shoved into easier to carry bags. 

Camping store, and a big, thick roll of sleeping bag good for subzero temperatures, that was his pick, while staring at a heavy duty tent and a kerosene heater. Man that stuff woulda helped him out so much some days back in his teens... But there was only so much they could pack into the caddy, and he was again thinking about what to replace the beast with. As it was, all their purchases were in cash, quietly grabbed out of the small duffle that had been covered by everything else, while the big one had been really, truly hidden even deeper. If some idiot broke in and stole stuff, they would go for the stuff at the top, and as much as it would hurt he and Ali’s position, it wouldn’t be a complete loss. Not that Nicki thought anything would happen any time soon. However, he still had about fifty large secreted around his person, and Ali had another twenty, just in case, just to hedge emergency bets. Alright, maybe that made him paranoid, but the way things in his life had been, Nick felt justified in it.

Holding hands, Ali leaned into him, and Nick immediately altered his stance, shifting and twisting his arm so he could loop it around her instead without relinquishing their entwined fingers, “Shit, I’m really startin’ ta wish I had a ‘bago.”

“We’ll get to that,” she reassured, steering him away from the other camping supplies. “What you need is something to cheer you up.”

Glancing down at her, Nick ducked his head enough to kiss her crown, “Cheerin’ me up?” Remembering they had passed a few of those girly stores with the lacy underwear, “Hey, there’s that Victoria’s Secret place...lil’frilly booty shorts on you’d be cute as fuck.”

“If you wanna see that, I’ve already got some,” Ali rubbed her cheek against his chest, scooting closer. “But no, no, I saw some stuff that would be good...”

“Hey, whatever you say, sweetheart, I’m just along for the ride right now,” he grunted.

...That was how he found himself in some designer men’s store, and Ali loading up on things. Most of which Nick kept putting back while making faces, because it was too much stuff he didn’t like. When she nabbed some _fluffy_ looking sweater fit for some nice boy from college or some shit, with big fat horizontal lines of white and blue, he’d put his foot down. In her arms there were several similar sweaters, pale stonewashed jeans, and nice boy looking things. Just, none of it was remotely appealing, and he wouldn’t be caught dead in any of the above unless it was literal life or death. Vito could wear that sort of shit and be taken seriously, not Nicki. Probably helped that Vito was pretty enough to be in a painting and could sway folks with that alone, there didn’t need to be a constantly maintained hard edge to his baby brother. Nick didn’t have that ability or luxury.

“Aww c’mon, Nick,” Ali said, standing in the store, racks upon racks, benches and tables stacked in displays of menswear, shirts in varying styles and colours, jeans, slacks, and up on the walls, jackets, hoodies, shit like that. In his girl’s hands, she held the despicably _cozy_ looking sweater up to him, while over the folds of a forearm, were yet another pair of pale blue jeans and more of those fluffy shirts. “Don’t you wanna look like apple pie? Nice, hot, tasty, flaky apple pie, a big fat slice of it, with a scoop of ice cream meltin’ all over your hotness?”

He was fairly certain his expression was enough to communicate how really disturbing the imagery was, but he also made a sound, “Yewack... Sweetheart, pie’s for eatin’. I’m people, I ain’t pie. I ain’t for eatin’!” She laughed and got closer, and he hopped back, hands up, hoping to ward her off with the charcoal jeans he snapped up off of the nearest table, “Don’t bite me! These’re good, just...just gotta find my size!”

Way too many minutes later, Nick was left shifting uncomfortably in the changing room, grimacing at the fit of the fifth pair of pants that _he_ liked. One after the other, every black to grey set of pants the store had in his size, and he was trying them all on it seemed. Ali kept racing back and forth, hopping, jumping up and down to peer at him over the slatted stall door, urging him out to be inspected and manhandled when each different kind was tried on. There was already a pile of henleys in short and long sleeve versions, it was the pants that were the sticking point. Nick liked button fly, but had always had a hell of a time finding the damn things. Apparently they had come back into mass production, which he supposed was good news, but it made for too many clothes to try on. 

“Get your hiney out here, I wanna see!” Ali was jumping up and down again, not tall enough to see more than from the middle of his chest on up, and he couldn’t help an amused snort at her antics.

“Alright, alright,” doing what he must to appease her, he exited and stood still for her to run her hands over him in a way that sure didn’t seem like it was appropriate for public, while squatting, checking, tugging at the fabric, just as she had done with every other pair he had tried on. “Baby, you don’t gotta keep doin’ that,” Nick fidgeted, trying to keep her hands from going to his groin, because while under most circumstances that would be fun, for the moment...? Nope, he wasn’t a man who liked an audience. 

Or interruptions, and public indecency was a good way to get interrupted.

Wide brown eyes rolled a look up at him, “I’m trying to make sure these fit you properly, Nick.”

Shifting foot to foot awkwardly, “Uh, yeah, well, that ain’t what it feels like ta me...”

For that he received a rather firm pat to the Tortano family jewels, a snicker, and Ali stood up, but Nick felt his whole face heating, “Oh sweetie, wow, are you _blushing_?” 

Shuffling and quickly backing into the changing stall, Nick ducked his head, trying to change as fast as possible back into his old clothes, and not let her see that she’d affected him like that. At least the other times she’d made him blush - like the first time they met - the lighting was dark, making it difficult to see that his face was turning all sorts of stupid shades of lobster. “Uh, how many pairs of jeans ya think’ll be good? Two, three?” Hopping foot to foot, jamming legs through his pants, Nicki prayed he wouldn’t start nervous giggling too, that’d just be the icing on the cake, “No, no, five, yeah. An’ that pair that makes me look like a rocker or whatevah...”

“Nickelo,” archly, teasing, and the stall’s door swung open, whapping him on the ass, making him jerk and leap the tiny bit of space left in the stall, to press his back against the wall, only to find Ali’s hands on his zipper and button, doing his pants back up for him, “five pairs, plus the two pairs of rocker pants, some of those joggers, and sweats too. And my god, how far does that blush _go_?” Zipper zipped, Nick’s chin was grabbed, head tilted and forced this way and that, inspecting him, “Nicki...wow. Just...wow. Your forehead is pink. Your neck’s pink. Your _nose_! Your _ears_? Oh god, that’s _got_ to be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Swatting at her hand ineffectively, “Hey, hey, it’s...it’s a skin condition or somethin’...like, like it’s hot in here or somethin’, yeah?” Plaintively, “Can we go now? Ya got me all those clothes an’ stuff, an’ even some vesty things, c’mon, baby...”

Fingers in his hair, Ali cupped his head, yanking him down enough, so that as she stood on her toes, in his favourite boots with the heels that raised her up, and she kissed his cheeks, his forehead, then the tip of his nose, “Aww, Nicki, it’s not so bad, will kisses make it all better?”

“Ali,” he grumbled, “this ain’t a good place for that...”

“Spoilsport,” a laugh, a lip smacking smooch to his mouth, and she grabbed other things she decided he required as she headed towards the cash register, leaving him to follow. 

Half the fucking day was spent shopping, Nick had never been subjected to that sort of thing before, and was footsore from it. It was weird, it wasn’t like a lot of ground was covered, or that he stood around a lot, it was just...well... _shopping_. Definitely not something he’d had much occasion to do all that often. Hit up a Goodwill, Salvation Army, occasionally a mall, sure, sure, he’d done that every now and then. Just...not ever had it been an all day thing. Ali had clearly enjoyed the experience, but he was just wishing for a place to stretch his legs out and take a nap. 

They did split up when there were two stores, side by side, that they each found interesting. Or, at least she shooed him into the bookstore while she entered the bath body stuff place. He hadn’t liked being separated, not having her under his direct watch, but he waited and read, thumbing through books and comic books, accumulating an unhealthy sized stack. At the rate of the day’s purchases they’d _have_ to get a winnebago to haul everything with any sort of ease. Then again, Nick figured an RV was probably the best bet anyway to keep them housed while on the run. Better than constantly risking motels and hotels. Besides, if they had a ‘bago, roof, shower, crapper, food and its preparation...all of that would be handled, and they wouldn’t have to deal with anything else. Yeah, that’s what he wanted, that’d be good, fuck, that’d be best. But what did he know about RVs in general? Not much, but give him an engine and some tools, he’d be golden.

Ali came in as he was paying for his absurd stack of books, intending to go out for a smoke and pry her loose from the store next door after, and she raised a curious brow at him, but just as he had a pair of large paper bags with discount books and comics that caught his eye, she had her own overfilled bags. 

Rubbing his chin over his shoulder briefly, Nick smirked a silent laugh at her, “Guess maybe I ain’t mind some kindsa shoppin’, huh?”

As she rolled up to her toes for a moment to gain a kiss, which he quickly ducked low enough to give her, “Yeah, maybe you don’t.”

“What say we blow this pop stand, huh? I could go for a beer or somethin’,” hoping they could find a package store or one of those chain restaurants that had a bar so he could have something malty to wet his whistle. 

XXX

Nick had wanted that beer, or a whiskey sour, or fuck, anything woulda done, but they settled on going to a McDonalds because the damn ubiquitous things had internet. Or, at least that had been what Ali said, but that seemed to apply to Boston, not butt-fuck-Egypt Pennsylvania. That had them chowing down on some fries and frosty Blizzard wannabe stuff before hunting for a Starbucks again. Because of the outlet mall business, there were a few of those around, and having selected one, they sat down at tiny tables, slurping coffee like it was going outta style. Much as he could do with a bit of alcohol, or maybe a blunt (been ages since he’d gotten high, but it wasn’t important) they needed information and a better plan than ‘drive in the caddy off into the sunset’.

While there, they had gone back and forth, quietly, about the fact that getting themselves an RV would be best for the long haul, but that brought up problems. Problems like license plates and car insurance, which would require an address, which wasn’t anything they could provide. They didn’t dare go back to Boston where there were addresses that things could be sent to legally, and that pretty much didn’t need to be said. But a woman with the thick drawl of the South came by, late middle aged lady, sorta like what Nicki would figure a snowbird from Canada would look like if they wasted any time in Boston before heading south for warmer climes...’cept she was thousands of times more chatty than snowbirds. Was probably a southern thing. The important thing, was that the lady had offered them a slew of advice about ways to get around their issue, gushing about how ‘sweet’ it was that they’d gotten a ‘wild hair’ on their asses to go RVing and wanting to do it ‘properly’. What it all boiled down to - the lady said that an extended stay hotel would be good for a legal address to register tags, insurance, and all that legal crap they would need to be on the road without gaining any problems. To top it off, she said that the town over that had the extended stay, also had a major RV and car dealership, and even better, was the fact that the DMV-police-trooper station was only up the road from that dealership, all nice and neat. Armed with that information, Nicki had made himself sit still and shoot the shit with the lady a bit longer, no matter how he wanted to bolt towards the hoped for security. Delores was full of stories, advice, tips and tricks of how to get the most out of RVing, and at some point he had rummaged for some paper to take notes, using his good manners and whatever charm he possessed... Not that such coaxing proved too necessary, since Delores was all too happy to dote on them. 

After they had won free of so much interaction, even having been urged to accept an email address for Delores to keep in touch or ask for advice at some other point - Nick plugged in address on the business card the old broad had for the RV dealership into his favourite piece of technology these days, waiting for the map directions to load. Amongst the thousand and one with a few extra on the side bits of teaching, she’d explained that she and her husband would periodically find a place to settle for fall or winter and get jobs to earn some green for the next season or two’s travel (like her present position at that Starbucks). Sounded like a good idea to him, but Nick knew that would be a ‘tomorrow’ thing. It was still reassuring to think of it as a backup plan, a way to manage long term as they hunted for long term safety. Ali had squeezed his arm, looping hers through his, hugging it tight, reminding him to not get too focused on the road far, far ahead when they were still trying to gather what they needed for _right now_ to survive.

The not-quite-town, or at least the bits of it that sat close to the interstate, had been easy to find, and the extended stay had been equally easy. The owners told them where the nearest chain grocer was - a Walmart, and the area it served wasn’t overflowing with people, so it wasn’t even a 24-hr one like he was used to - and then he and Ali were set loose upon a modest studio apartment on the first floor. Ali had been nervous about that, something about first floors being easier to break into, or old saws and women travelers should do for extra precautions. But Nick preferred it, since the caddy had a spot right in front of the fuckin’ door, and that meant less ground to race to a mode of escape if it they had to. Of course he still took Ali’s discomfort into account, and she wound up sleeping on the side of the bed farthest from the window and entrance to their temporary home. ...Frankly, Nick would’ve taken that side of the bed anyway - if some jackass was gonna do something stupid, they’d shoot through door or window, kick door down or window out, or any other sort of thing, and Nick wouldn’t want a sleeping Ali to be in the way of him moving to intercept, let alone be the one likely to be hit by any stray glass or bullets from some assailant. Okay, yeah-yeah, paranoid, Nicki repeated all of that to himself a dozen times an hour, but until they had a ‘bago, the caddy sold, plates and insurance, and were at least a twenty hour drive from any sewer a mafioso would call ‘home’...he’d fuckin’ _stay_ paranoid and hypervigilent. 

...What else could he do, other than that? Letting his guard down when they were so close to a real ticket out, a real ticket away, would be just as dangerous as calling Saul or some shit like that. Stupid. So, Nick was keyed up, day in, day out, his sleep only coming in short bursts when it was night. They had taken a day or so to settle in, and properly sort through what they had brought or purchased, and then went through the long process of counting bills, breaking them up, sorting them this way and that, into manageable, inconspicuous amounts, tucking some here, tucking some there amidst their possessions. It was only after all that was done, the two of them had sat at the small table for two the studio provided, Ali’s meatloaf and roasted veggies and potatoes taking up the center of it for their dinner which they had gone at pretty heartily, and stacks and stacks of green paper, or rolls of the bills, all nice and orderly, and way more having been placed just as neat on the bed because there’d been so much to sort through, that they knew just how much fucking dough they had. 

And it was a lot. A whole fucking lot. He had figured two, _maybe_ three mill could have been stuffed into the enormous duffle he’d snagged from behind Jerry’s turned back. And even that number had seemed preposterous, but instead it was five and some goddamned ‘change’. If change was enough to buy a couple houses with enough left over to buy furniture and hire movers...change like five mill and four-hundred grand. The enormity of that hung in the air, until Ali had turned ashen, murmuring that it was too much, that there had to be a catch, why the fuck would pencil pushing, careful bean counting Jerry have left it out, all tempting like that...? (Nicki hadn’t known she knew Jerry, but his mumbled query had been replied to in that equally numb and shell shocked tone, that when she was a kid, and into her teens, off and on, that a few members of Saul’s crew had acted as family friends, or at least enough so that Ali got birthday and Christmas presents. Weird shit, that, but what’d he know?) But that revelation had been a momentary interruption, before they had been driven back to the present and reality, and then pushed both of them to frenzy, tearing apart the duffle, Nick flicking out his knife, severing seams carefully, taking it completely apart down to its absolute base components. Nothing, nothing had been abnormal about the duffle, it was just one of those stupidly oversized gym bags that really looked like it was copied after old military canvas duffles, except in that woven polyester crap that was kind of waterproof and supposedly discouraged mould. No funky buttons, no boxes, no nothing, nothing that could have been a tracking device, because even Nicki would have put that sort of insurance in a bag that laden. So much cash, it could have been a trap, a temptation, a honey pot an angry thug wouldn’t have been able to resist, unwittingly carrying around a way for enemies to track him, to zero in, like a damned bullseye. 

But no...nothing, nothing but pulled apart zippers, zipper pulls, threads of yanked seams, and messy poly blend material, that was all that the bag held beyond the kind of cash that Nick could only stare at, hands shaking, body covered in cold, clammy sweat.

“Nicki...Nick?” Ali’s face swung in his direction, gaze torn away from the mess that had been made of the duffle, one that had been big enough for camping gear or whatever, Nick couldn’t think straight, he was just sort of blank. But Ali scooted across the rustling pile, hugging herself tightly, and it was reflexive, Nick reached out, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her in even closer, until the startling warmth of her short sleeve bared arms wound atop his shoulders, the fabric of her lemon coloured tee rubbing against his bare stomach since he’d shucked his shirts to get washed in the tub earlier, when Ali was cooking dinner. “Nick, you...you knew what my father’s business was, right? Like...like what they did, what kinds of numbers they’d pull?”

The contact, the prompting, it jogged Nick back some, and he refocused, croaking, “Yeah,” with a nod. “I mean, I-I knew Tony was holdin’ out big, big time on Saul. An’ every time I tried to say, every time I’d gone to Saul, an’ sometimes Jerry because I thought that if Saul’d ignore it if it came from me, maybe he wouldn’t ignore it if it came from Jerry...” Trailing off, Nick blinked, then tried again. “They always said ‘Tony makes us alotta money, Tony’s protected, you leave him alone’. And they knew, they knew Tony wasn’t bein’ straight with them, but let it go, yeah?”

Fingers carded through his hair, Ali shivering once, studying his face, “For them to decide it wasn’t worth pushing my father to fess up...for them to overlook that, umn...wh-what kind of numbers do you think that’d take, Nick?”

“I...I ain’t know,” shaking his head. “I mean, at one point, I woulda thought y’know, a few million a year, yeah? But that was before I was a made man, before I was inta squeezin’ those who were holdin’ back. If they only gave some of what they were supposed to, and I was rakin’ in ‘bout...” He sucked his teeth, calculating, numbers flying by in his brain, recalling what he’d show up with at least once a week, hell, sometimes twice, “Thirty, forty, large, yeah? That’s what I brought in at least once a week, an’ that’d be lowball. They liked that, but I wasn’t a real money maker. I mean...I mean...put in comparison like that, Tony’d...Tony had his own squad, his own muscle, that only answered to him, an’ I ain’t mean just those ghetto fucks that was always hangin’ right around him. He ran girls, he brought ‘um in on fake visas an’ passports, that’s...that’s _a huge fuckin’ pile a clams_ Ali. The kind I didn’t think I’d see for years, an’ only if I moved up quick, yeah?” 

“And almost all of it untaxed, just enough for show to keep a low profile and keep from gettin’ audited.” Ali grimaced, and Nick didn’t know why that quick flash of anger snapped in her dark eyes, but it wasn’t until she spat the words, that he knew for sure it wasn’t him she was so pissed at. “That _fuckin’ cocksucking dickwad_. That...that rat bastard. Millions, he’d have had millions in untraceable shit,” a fist whacked Nick’s shoulder in emphasis, her gaze gone inwards, but she wasn’t trying to hurt him, and he didn’t care, not really, she just needed to take some action, no matter how infinitesimal. “He couldn’t be bothered to toss Mom three hundred bucks a month. He couldn’t be bothered to help me buy my schoolbooks one semester, not even one! When he said he’d help, when I went ta college, he gave me two and a half grand once a year...and only for three outta the six I went. It woulda been nothing to him, it woulda been...” A hitching sob, and Nick cupped Ali’s head, tucking it into the side of his neck. “I had to take out so many loans, I had a scholarship, and thank fuck it paid my tuition, but it didn’t cover anything else. Books, clothes, food, rent, bills - I hadta work two jobs, and fight to do my coursework because I was taking a full course load, and had thirty-seven hours for work, and...fuck him! Fuck that bastard!”

Nick winced at her pain, wishing he could give Tony a good solid strike. Not that there was anything more solid of a hit than a bullet through the brain, but Nick wanted to grind his boot sole into Tony’s face, and if he’d known all what he knew now, in those moments that Tony breathed his last... The sort of ‘help’ Tony had tossed at Ali had probably been less than what the fucker spent on _el primo_ coke in a _week_. Even in bulk that sorta shit was expensive, but Tony liked to candy up his nose so much, and had been able to afford it, to not even notice the loss his little habit cost him. And the asshole hadn’t done more than toss, what would have been to Tony, a week or two’s fun money, once a year at his daughter...even a little bit more could have been the difference between eating a decent meal and not panicking over rent, or bills, or getting enough hours to study, to rest, to afford to cut back on work just enough so she could give school her all... 

Tony wouldn’t have even felt it if he’d done even a little bit more, no doubt he wouldn’t have noticed if he had given Ali enough so she didn’t _have_ to work and could devote her attention to school. To have had that ability, and to have cared so little, to have bothered almost not at all...then to get all pissed off if Ali got called a name by some kid, and then send out goons to rough up that kid? Just for an insult to a daughter that Tony hadn’t taken the effort to do more than glance at once in awhile? Oh that fucking burned. 

Gritting his teeth, Nick almost spoke, his jaw worked, and he quickly stopped himself by biting down on his tongue, shoving the muscle between teeth to keep from voicing the fact he wished Tony had been alive when he and Georgie began dismembering the scaly fuck. That kinda thing wouldn’t have really comforted Ali, maybe it would give a flare of retribution, but that wasn’t the sorta thing that sustained her, and he knew it. So he bit his tongue, held her close, and didn’t grunt when she scrabbled and clawed at his back a few times like she could wrap her hands around her father’s worthless neck. 

That was the worst of all, of course, but there were the other things Ali had been trying to figure out that Nick did. Like the fact that all this money was definitely something Tony would earn regularly, but wasn’t so much as to cause massive hardship to Saul’s crew, yet also wasn’t so little that Saul wouldn’t feel the slapping sting. If Nicki was willing to attribute anything positive to the Family at the moment, it may be that the money could be looked at as a kind of inheritance for Ali, a chunk of her father’s undocumented assets while Saul scooped up every other bit, down to the last red cent. Except Saul wasn’t like that, not that it mattered really. The important bit was that the money could be looked at and used not as blood money, but as estate, at least within their mindsets. The other vital shit was that Saul could recoup this loss, it wouldn’t be so rude of a hit as to demand all forms of retribution no matter the effort to mete out punishment to Nick, and by extension, Ali too. Those were all important things, right? 

Finally she went a little lax after the struggling storm inside her, all the fight drained away he guessed, worn down by a lifetime of not being more than an afterthought to her father. “God, my father is so...was so...”

Using the word she’d described in the dive bar he’d met her in, “Insultable. Yeah, the fucker was that.” He kissed her face, what bit of it he could reach without dislodging her or shifting, “One bad fucker that the world’s better off without, but...” Nick trailed off, not sure what to say. 

“No buts, I can’t remember a single redeeming thing about him, Nicki,” and that sounded all worn out too, defeated. “There isn’t a single good memory, there isn’t a tiny thing anywhere that would mean I was something to him. For Pete’s sake, he couldn’t be bothered to spare me a thought - he had me named _Alessandro_ , Nick, to remind Mom, and then me, that I was a mistake not worth a minute to come up with a girl’s name, while Mom was still out from giving birth. I was a tool he used to try and control Mom, and that’s about it. And when that didn’t work, I wasn’t even worth _that much_. I can’t remember anything good, just him yellin’ at Mom, or hittin’ her. Good when he was there, was when he wasn’t looking at me, wasn’t yelling, wasn’t hitting, but would be talking about some nonsense I didn’t know about. Bits and pieces, Nick. That’s all...oh god...” There wasn’t enough energy there to find the anger, no matter how much all those words deserved to be coated in it, and Ali wasn’t even sobbing those things to him, she just shook and let the words fall out in complete and total exhaustion. “If there was anything good that came from him...I can’t see it, I...” Then came the expected sob, a rally of strength found to give that sentiment proper life, “Just one, tiny, little thing, just one, Nick, I don’t know why I wish there was something, just...”

Nick got it, and leaned away from her, fingers in her short mussy hair, making her look at him, and he kissed her lips quickly, silencing her. She wanted to be worth something to one of the people who had created her, no matter how worthless the cockstain that donated a chunk of DNA to her really had been. And he had to figure out something good that had come to her from that fucker... Well, other than Ali herself. 

Eyes darting around the studio, the cash, the everything, then to her, Nick hoped it wasn’t too much of a stretch, but it was what he could come up with. “If you ain’t the one who told him ‘bout Eric smokin’ ‘round you an’ callin’ you a name when you’d told him off, then somebody was watchin’. And that somebody told him, an’ he sent out his guys, yeah?” He wasn’t so good at this, the thought wasn’t clear, and it really took some serious mental contortions to lay anything of such high worth as Ali and the place she held in Nick’s life, at Tony’s feet, but it had to be something, right? 

“Ye-yeah,” sniffing once, confused, listening, wary, Ali gave a grudging nod of confirmation, “I guess so.”

“If he hadn’ta done that, I wouldn’ta called to complain about what’d gone on, roughin’ up Eric, ‘cuz he’s just a kid, a dumb fuckin’ kid,” Nick continued, taking hold of the thought. “An’ then he and I wouldn’ta had words, which then I hadta go an’ apologize for, right?” Another nod, and this was where it was a stumble for Nick, “If it weren’t for all that, if it weren’t ‘cuz of Tony demandin’ I make some apologies, includin’ to you, we...uh...I-I never woulda met you.” He winced, looking away, “So...so I mean, if you think I’m anythin’ good, then you got me, because of Tony. So...so -”

Lips cut him off, tongue in his mouth, Ali tight to him, hands clutching, and she sucked the breath from his lungs with the force of the plundering. Nick would have been taken aback if he hadn’t been so startled, or if he’d had a second to do more than register all that before she rocked back to sit on her heels, still hanging onto him. “You’re crazy, but I guess you’re right.”

“Well, he also gave you life?” Nick pointed out, hoping that may be another good bit she could say was from him. “At least he set off the chain of events n’crap? I mean, even somebody that fuckin’ shitty can accidentally create the best thing in the world.” Adding, in case it wasn’t obvious what he meant, “I mean you, yeah? Probably only really good thing he did in the world was cause you, and this thing ‘tween us, it may have been because he was a jackass who couldn’t keep his mouth shut, and backed me inta a corner where I hadta go all apologetic to meet you...but that’s good stuff you got from him, yeah?”

“I can live with that, I suppose,” Ali frowned, sighing. “But at the same time, I wouldn’t want to give him too much credit on that. You’re right, if my father hadn’t been such a bastard, I wouldn’t have you.”

After that, Nick had watched Ali dig out the big bottle of cheap whiskey and red hot cinnamon candies she’d picked at the package store when they’d gone for groceries, and mixed up what seemed a sure recipe for the saying ‘white girl wasted’. He’d taken out a beer for himself, and kept an eye on Ali while she went at that bottle of whiskey she had crammed as many red hots into as she could, but he also had put away all the cash they’d sorted while she drank like she was trying to forget. It was alright, they all had shit like that sometimes. The plan for the next day was to go to the dealership, but he figured that may not be possible if Ali were to get totally trashed, he still wouldn’t stop her if that was what she needed. In the end, there hadn’t been a hangover the next day on Ali’s part, which Nick had to silently say he envied - if _he_ had downed almost a full fifth of that rotgut paint thinner offbrand whiskey, he’d have felt it the next morning. Ali had just wanted greasier than usual eggs, burnt coffee, and that seemed to be it. 

And that was that. 

Routine was settled into after taking a few days to haggle over the RV. That first day, they had just investigated and explored every fuckng RV on the lot, Ali being the personable and smiling one, while Nick struck off the list the kinds of RVs that didn’t meet their needs. They had left, making noncommittal noises at the salesman, so the guy was driven to sweeten the deal the second day when they’d returned for a bit more aimless appearing wandering. Later that second shopping day, they had done the whole ‘eh, seems okay, but too much money for not enough of what we want.’ Day three was narrowing down the picks, to day four, real haggling started, inspection and stem to stern look over the six RVs Nick was most interested in. In private, Ali had said they looked like semitrucks, enormous rolling palaces, but when he asked if she had anywhere specific she’d like to go to settle in the long run, or if she had any idea how long they may wind up travelling... Well, there wasn’t any hint in the cards for either of them, so having the best possible ‘bago to meet their needs for the long haul, was well...what they needed. Day five, paperwork in Ali’s name was all done up, and the caddy was traded in, knocking off almost thirty grand from the price tag of last year’s model. Ali had winced at the price of the behemoth black RV since it cost more than plenty of condos - but with the reduction from the trade in, and a further reduction because they were paying in cash upfront in a single lump sum, it all came out to knock shit down by a full third. The salesman hadn’t batted an eyelash at the crinkly and rumpled bill stacks they had set before him, and Ali had given the excuse that they had been saving for a big road trip for a few years from tips or windfalls - except the salesman had waved her nervous excuse all off. Apparently lots of folks into the whole road tripping schtick liked to pay in cash as much as possible, pennies and dimes, dollar bills, and a handful of hundreds gathered over time until the goal for the RV was reached. Nick supposed that made sense, and he was just glad that it didn’t require deeper digging, and a more limited paper trail. 

So...routine was found and they remained at the hotel, a cheap rental car that barely ran provided at discount from the dealership served any needs to go to the grocery, the DMV, or a few times to the outlet mall, since the big ass RV would be silly to drive around just for errands like that. For a month they stayed in one spot, judicious in their reasoning to leave the confines, not so much afraid that they’d be spotted, but that their stuff may get stolen. While waiting for the plates that would allow them to travel freely through the country, they had set about making the luxury brand motorhome more ‘theirs’ and less stock crap that came standard and uncomfortable from the factory. Alright, that was mostly Nick’s doing, having wanted to do something to cheer Ali up, as she had been suffering a couple particular bad days from her period, and when he’d left her at the hotel, taking the scruffy dealership rental to the outlet, he’d gone all out. Curtains, rugs, shit like that, sheets, Nick had grabbed anything that looked like it would be to Ali’s taste to make the RV something approaching as homey as the place she had left behind in Boston, and bought it... Internally he had winced, brief flash of queasiness at the dollar amount that was rung up - how the fuck could a comforter be two hundred bucks, pretty design like geometric smoke on the soft fabric or not? Maybe it was like the Armani suit, the designer name drove up the cost - but that went away quickly. It was just cash anyway, all spent with the intent on making the rolling fortress that would provide shelter from elements, a place to cook, to store food, to get clean, and turn it into a refuge for Ali, showing her that it was capable of being home until they found a place to put roots. Hell, if they never really put down roots, they could get another RV in the future, whatever it took, Nick didn’t care. 

He had hidden all those goodies he had specifically gone out to get her, until the day their long anticipated plates arrived at the hotel’s daily mail at the office. Ali had set herself to cleaning up the room that had housed them for too damn many days, packing up their things which he ferried to their black aluminum wrapped home, and Nick had used that time to put up all the green froufrou stuff. What few things they had originally switched out inside the RV, were what they had grabbed from her home when fleeing, and now Nick put those away. Everything should be new, should be theirs, and so that’s what he did, only pausing here and there to grab another batch of packed stuff from the hotel room so she wouldn’t get suspicious and find out about her surprise until she was supposed to. 

And yeah, Ali had definitely been surprised when all was said and done, spending a moment to blitz through the thirty-seven foot long vehicle, head poking into this and that piece of storage, or run fingers over the downy soft curtains. Nick had gone a little overboard, yeah, sure, on the greens, with a few blues and some of those greeny-blue teals, but those were the colours that Ali appeared to collect the most, and were some of his favourite on her anyway. So, okay, a rolling fortress that was way more than a roof to keep over their heads, it was a green bower... All save for the leather sofa in caramel butter soft skins that took up part of their abode. That had been sort of spared the girly treatment, a pair of fluffy polar fleece blankets notwithstanding. (Yeah, one was black, the other was, of course, green. His and hers...) That startled laughter had been one of the best sounds Nick had heard since...well, since the night before when Ali had sobbed out his name, biting deep into his forearm as he’d left her pussy quaking when he’d taken her from behind... Good start to the day, that laugh would probably remain the best sound, at least until they found a campground for the night. That would be hours away, so the kiss, the laughter, and a few teases from Ali about him secretly being an interior decorator, razzing him, would tide him over until later.

Finally, later did come. 

There was fumbling with getting the slideouts in place, Nick wasn’t familiar with those contraptions beyond what he’d been taught about their new acquisition, since any ‘bago he’d ever been in, had been ancient and basic. Hell, some of those old hulks had been considered top of the line back in the day, with a real crapper and a shower that wasn’t supposed to be a bag with water that hung from a step ladder on the outside of the thing. _This_ fancy thing that cost as much as houses in some places, or a little condo in a decent area of Boston, had a real crapper - a freaking _porcelain_ one. The shower had a tub, not real deep and Nick didn’t want to consider the absurd contortions he’d have to twist into to sit in it himself, but it still had a tub, and at least Ali could curl up in it, which had been one of the selling points for him. (When they had still been choosing which place to buy, she had been excited to see the little tub and even hopped in to check to see if she could fit, or if it was only useful to folks with kids. She’d fit, sighed wistfully, and that had pretty much been why he had put it at the top of the short list to decide between.) Gas stove, yeah, that was normal, _deep_ fridge, like what could be found in somebody’s house, not a smaller or shallower one that he had seen commonly in other models... The tub, the fridge, and fuck yes, the fact that there somehow had been shoved into a niche, a stacked washer/dryer, and so they had this impossibly fancy place he was double, triple, and quadruple checking the slideouts and level jacks to be certain he had it all right and firmly in place. Not once in his life had Nicki thought to _live_ somewhere so high end, visiting some chick in pricy digs was all the drowning in luxury he had ever considered. Hell, not too long ago, and fuck it felt like a lifetime ago, and it _was_ definitely a _life_ ago, Nick’s biggest ambition for himself personally beyond a sexy caddy to shout out to others his status in the Family, was to maybe find himself an apartment of his own to crash, some place he could bring dames back to if he felt like it, and not worry about if there was ten feet of snow piled high outside. Alright, and running water with heat, yeah, that’d been important, but space heaters would’ve been fine if there hadn’t been heat in that imaginary place to call his own. This thing...this thing had bookshelves that they filled, a couch that he could sink into, a place to eat and spread out...fuck yes, it was like being king of a castle that held a thousand and one items that he had wished for but never hoped to get having long since grown used to bare essentials. 

But, most of all, more than any of those crazy chunks of being high as hell on the hog, was Ali. It all smelled new as fuck, not horribly, disgustingly new factory, but still enough to be jarring and not really homey yet. But Ali made it homey when he’d hiked up the couple steps from outside having finished his check of all freaky gewgaws of the rich n’famous lifestyle the RV had probably been dreamed up for. She made it homey by her now familiar swaying side to side dance as she stood at the stove, which he’d only seen a few times back in Boston, but had come to rely upon at the hotel. The smell of cooking onions, bell pepper, and some other stuff she was tossing together from the bounty of a startling amount of cupboards that had been built into the place which they had stocked from a last stop at a grocer before leaving the podunk pitstop town they had lived in for a month, salty soy sauce, hints of ginger, all done as she swayed, humming to herself, barefoot, a pair of his boxers stretching over the swells of her ass, thighs, and hips before tightening down at her waist. He knew they’d be all stretched out of shape if he tried to wear them again, but what did he care if the leg holes were looser or the butt sagged? His skinny ass tended to have a bit of sag in the seat anyway, not like he’d ever cared...besides, a man needed some serious ball room if he was expected to do anything strenuous when wearing jeans. (He wouldn't think about how much cling there was in the pants they'd bought at the outlet mall, but only because if he thought about it, there wouldn't be much room left in his pants presently. Ali's frequent caress of hands over his legs, ass, and groin had made it clear in the month since then, that she preferred his jeans to not have quite so much room as he was used to... If he was gonna show off what God gave him, eh, well, if Ali liked it, that was good enough.)

Ali didn’t look up from the skillet that, if the tag he remembered it had once carried wasn’t bullshitting, had cost more than a whole set of regular cookware he would have bought from a Walmart, but he saw the side of her cheek pinch and curve upwards in what he knew would be a smile if he saw it head on. “You see somethin’ you like, sexy? Or you just gonna gawk, holding up the doorway in case it may fall over if you don’t?”

Caught, Nick ducked his head, whether she could see it or not, and plunked on the armrest of the nearest built in chair so he could pry at his boots, thinking that maybe a pair of clogs to wear when just checking around the ‘bago instead of having to waste time on laces and buckles and shit like that, while the heat of being noticed burned his face all over, and he hoped she wouldn’t look his way until the flaming had gone down some. “Doorway seems real sturdy, baby, it don’t need me to keep it there.”

“That so, huh? Then maybe you can be the tall person and reach whatever is up on the top shelf right here,” still not looking in his direction, but gave a slight upwards nod to the cabinets right above the stove. 

Nick knew damn well that there wasn’t anything up there, or if there was, it was probably the small toolset for minor repairs like a light hammer and some screwdrivers that generally cost a couple bucks. (The real tools were stored in a space that was built into the floor, and the auto mechanic tools were in one of the outdoor compartments that was hidden and existed for that purpose, and inaccessable from inside.) Anyway, the streets and life didn’t raise a total fool, and Nick didn’t say anything stupid to question, and did as she asked, standing at her back, making a show of searching for a whole lotta nothing above her head, happy to play this weird game. There were all kinds of those he’d been finding out, shit that those books written with really comically bad sex scenes for bored and lonely women as their version of porn, hadn’t prepared him to actually experience the kinds of silliness that happened between a man and a woman who lived together. Besides, Ali’s games always wound up making one or the other of them fall into helpless laughter, but usually it was both of them, and then would lead to all kinds of touching, heavy petting, explorations, all stuff that should be familiar to him. None of that awareness changed the fact that it was familiar moves that didn’t feel the same at all...so the games, fun, and plenty of touching, all great incentives, and most of all, it was stuff he was beginning to associate with ‘homeyness’. 

Ducking towards her, hands coming up empty, “Sorry, baby, can’t find nothin’ up there.” She hummed as he tucked his mouth into the side of her neck, a breathy sound breaking free as the press of his lips caused her head to tilt, and his empty hands slid down her arms, to cover her hands for a moment, one on the handle of the skillet, the other wrapped around the spatula, before he stroked back up those limbs to the button down shirt she was wearing, another thing of his, this time it was something much too big, and Nick smiled against her neck, a goal for himself in mind. He knew his hands were large, he could cup each dense muscle of her asscheecks and cover almost the entire span while squeezing, and he turned those large hands to find their way under the hem of the blue shirt, sneaking in not so sneakily, to rub and roll over the mouthful of tender mounds that were topped by pale rosy gumdrops that he fully intended to get his lips on as soon as she let him. “Found somethin’ here though.”

Ali snorted, which probably had been meant to show disbelief or sarcasm, except it was ruined by a squirm and moan in the midst of it, since he was nibbling up and down her throat, “Still not enough to fill your hands, sorry buddy.” Breathy, cross but not really, ‘plaintive’ Nick’s brain finally supplied him with a better description, “That’s as big as I’m probably going to get without a boob job, but I was almost used to that, you know, until this giant ginny conned his way in, and I gotta find out who I complain to about the fact that he’s got paws the size of serving plates. It’s not fair.”

“Mph,” Nick grunted, uncaring, massaging flesh and the muscle beneath it, rubbing his face into the side of her head, breathing deep. She always smelled good, but wasn’t it weird for chicks to pat on some aftershave? Because Ali had definitely touched a spot or two of his to her neck...unless some had managed to rub off from him to her without him noticing that morning way too many hours ago. “Nah, no boob job, that shit’d ruin these perfect buttons you got.” Kissing her temple, Nick straightened enough so he wasn’t hunching over her anymore, but kept close so she could use him as a wall to lean against, and hey, it gave him free reign to toy with those pebbles in slow, deliberate ways that wouldn’t distract her from the cooking _too_ much, but would still make sure Ali was as riled up as she made him, so soon as possible, they could commence one of the best of all time pass times - rolling around until the loser was the one who lost their pants first and had to submit to licking and kissing until begging for mercy. (So far, Ali hadn’t ever won, and Nicki wasn’t going to let go of his natural advantages anyway.) Musing aloud, “But I read somewheres in some girly magazine, that tits get bigger when ya breastfeed I think? Could experiment an’ see if me suckin’ on ‘um more does it if ya wanna...”

That got him a laugh, Ali hitching and hooking her hip back into him in a playful shove, and she tipped her head back to look at him, “You’re just looking for an excuse to get your face full’a my whole lotta nothin’.”

Nick glanced at the ceiling overhead - a ceiling that had also been part of the major draws to the ‘bago they now had, since the ceiling was a full ten inches above the top of his head, and he had the actual ability to stand up straight throughout the damn thing, which he couldn’t do in most they had looked at - and singsonged, “Ali’s itty, bitty, tasty titties, that’s not nothin’ at all, baby, an’ you know it.” He gave one swollen nub a rolling tweak with his thumb and held it between the curve of his index, kinda like one of those worry stone destressor things he’d seen at some new agey store. “An’ as much as I like ‘um, I prolly shouldn’t point out that it gets you extra juicy down south, an’ ready for me ta get my appetizer.”

“Uh-huh, flattery and a quick tongue get you everywhere, is that how it is?” Ali teased him, the movements of stirring their intended meal to keep it from burning had begun to slow, and he could feel her heart beating faster under his hand as he plied flesh, the muscle thumping against her breastbone and Nick came close to dipping in for a bite to her shoulder when she shifted even more restlessly foot to foot from the attention. 

“Nope,” and he made his hands go down to her her waist, not that it was much ‘safer’ territory than her nubby tits, because the toned skin was sensitive and ticklish, but he could generally make himself behave for a bit in that area. Or at least behave better than when allowed near the tempting gumdrops that he liked to play with so much - her waist? Well, Nick could just hang on for a bit, maybe rub and dig his thumbs into the back of her waist to loosen a muscle or two. “Kinda hard to be real fast usually, too busy kissin’ an’ explorin’, that’s the kinda stuff that takes time. Gotta be thorough, an’ bein’ speedy doesn’t lemme do that.” She snorted and he chuckled, leaning to catch her eye, “An’ is it really flattery if it’s the truth?”

How Nick lasted through the meal was one of those secrets only known to angels and God. Maybe it was the significance of the fact that it was a meal they shared in a place that _belonged to them_. Nobody had the right to take it from them, it was theirs, it was going to be their own world, their version of a shell on the turtle’s back, made and grown just to fit them, nobody else. That aspect had struck him when he’d poured Ali’s drink and then gone to fill his own with some juice, and he’d had to give himself a shake as he had stared at his dishwasher safe durable plastic cup. Home, he had a home, it was going to be safe, there weren’t any squatters, no cops to come by and prod him, no gangbangers or other types, no hookers trying to shuffle by and get customers. Home. That realization had left Nick leaning back heavily in the u-shaped dining nook, hands having slipped to utensils, real ones, not really great ones, not like Mom’s that had been passed down a couple generations of ‘good stainless steel’ that came in a velvet lined wood box. But still, utensils, a table, a home, he was home, and it had wheels so it could go anywhere he went, giving shelter to not just Ali, but to _him_ as something other than a guest or invited, impermanent resident.

Ali had reached out, covering his nearest hand with hers, waiting him out until he’d stumbled and muttered those nonsense things that were in his head. Then she had come close to sit right beside him, all nice and tight and close, and said that of course it was his home too, because it couldn’t be her home at all if it wasn’t his also. So it belonged to them both, that simple. Nick had floated through dinner, mind going around that circle again and again like a dog chasing its tail, except he didn’t think he’d be catching up fully for quite some time. It was a shocking concept, because he hadn’t had a home since he was pretty much a kid. Ali did ask how long ago that was, he had shrugged it away, the amount of time not all that important, just the idea of it all, and he was still figuring out how to put those new puzzle pieces together. Back in Boston, Ali had made room to share her home with him, made a place for him, but in his mind, it had still been hers. This enormous hunk of metal filled to the brim with shit Nick had learned to survive without for the most part, was decked out to make her the most comfortable, but it was _theirs_ , shared, equal space, no need to shift about and make new room. What the fucking hell was he supposed to with this realization? 

After way too long trying to wrap his brain around that, being a dumbass and remaining at the dinner table, the meal finished, while Ali did dishes and cleaned up - which a part of himself berated him over. Whoever cooked, didn’t clean, they switched off, and there he was, on his ass, staring like an imbecile - Nicki wrenched his mind away from what he couldn’t really comprehend at the moment. Sure there was some significance to it all, it just was too big to see all at once for the moment, at least for him. Pulling his grey matter from the repeating chase of the same information was probably only possible because Ali had finished righting everything from dinner, and had come to lean both elbows on the table, bent and watching him from the open portion of the curved dining area. And it was familiar, soothingly so, to see her fingers woven together, elbows on that table just like it was a bar counter, cute as hell chin jutting as she waited him out, watching, assessing him until Nick couldn’t help but turn crimson, his gaze falling away, not recalling when it had caught hold of hers to stare. 

“Hey what’s going on up in there?” Ali asked, a hand coming out to cup his chin, urging him to stop ducking it and his focus away from her, short nails scratching at his goatee and he felt like he was some kinda cat, because it felt nice and Nick instinctively stretched his neck to get more of it. “Could really use one of those thought bubble clouds above your head right now, like in one of your comics.”

Lips quirked, Nick slid around, letting his chin lead by remaining in her gentle grasp, until he could wrap an arm around her waist, “Buncha nonsense, you know, radio static from a bad signal. It’ll go away or pick up a better boosted wavelength or whatever it is. S’not important.” 

His girl examined him, brow high, checking him good to see if that was everything, and, for the moment, it pretty much was, or at least was best as he could figure it. “Is that so? Stuff that’s going on up in that head, behind those eyes of yours, it’s not important?” Admonishing him with the fingers of her other hand running over his cheekbone, lips pursed, “Because whatever you’ve got up there, it’s important to me, so you’d better say whatever it is when you’re ready if it’s not right now, mister.”

Capturing the hand before it could make another pass, he kissed her wrist, “Yeah, I gotcha, it just ain’t makin’ any sense to me right now an’ I don’t wanna bash my head against it anymore tonight. Got way better things to think about than tryin’ to put weird stuff together like one of them assembly required things that don’t come with instructions or all the pieces like promised.”

Side eyeing him, Ali waited a moment more before accepting and relenting, “Alright, if you say you’ve got something you’d rather be doing, maybe you’d care to share since the other thing isn’t cooperating?”

“Hehn,” and a giggle laugh found him because at least the other thing clicked fully and made way more sense than the initial instinctive part. Hooking an arm around her waist, Nicki didn’t take his gaze from hers while he turned his face like he was sweeping their new quarters. “Figurin’ out which spots are most fun while christenin’ them, that’d definitely be right up on the list of what I’d rather be thinkin’ about. But I kinda could use a hand.” Adding, “I ain’t mean one of my own, neither.”

There was a little fight going on in Ali’s face, trying to not smile but it was a losing battle...that arm he’d wrapped around her to drag her in closer may have had a bit to do with it, or the other hand worming back under the shirt to draw patterns without meaning or purpose on the skin his fingertips encountered. Nose crinkling, that flirty, knowing smile, finished working its way past her control, “Guess yours are kinda busy, huh?” and he confirmed with a punctuating cupping of her ass real quick. Ali didn’t tend to giggle or snorfle but this time she did, probably the fault of skittery fingers up her side, and she squirmed closer, wedging in the area between dining bench seat and the table, to get up in his space. “Okay, you got me, real busy hands, and you need mine, mister. What was it you needed them for? Last I checked, you’re kinda not celibate enough to be a priest all set to christen stuff - where’s the holy water? Might want to work on that little bit of fib there, Nicki.”

Tossing his head back, his throat vibrated with another laugh, fuck she was always making him laugh or grin or smile or giggle, and it was great, but it wasn’t what he’d consider the best way to make a woman want him. Was weird it worked on Ali, all signs pointed to that, since every time he did, her eyes would light up and dance, her own smiles broadening, warming, and she’d do that impossible twinkling thing. Instead of answering with words - if he tried, Nick hadn’t any doubt that he’d all too quickly dissolve into nothing _but_ giggles - he hoisted her up the slight difference to get her on the dining table.

Managing to growl it out, way too playfully but that was part of the fun, he nodded at the buttons of her borrowed shirt, he didn’t counter the priest or holy water thing, “Really could use that shirt bein’ open, you know.”

By the time Ali had worked half the buttons free, Nick had twisted to the open side of the nook, twisting Ali right along with the motion too, so her legs wouldn’t be trapped by the seats. That brought its own distractions, namely those free legs, as she rubbed them up and down the sides of his still denim clad self. Still, her hands were busy with their task, and not trying to go for his belt, which he may want to be free from - belt, trousers, boxers - but he kept enough space so he could watch, yet there wasn’t much of a will to resist capturing her mouth with his. So what if it cut his view off, it was full lips and slick tongue on his, and if Nick got just the right angle, Ali always would let loose a good moan that could shoot straight through him with how horny she sounded, all of which was a definite perk and fair compensation for missing the show.

A moan of his own slipped out when fingernails scratched his jaw and cheeks on their way into his hair, fingertips rubbing and then the nails pricked his scalp, tugging, and Nicki let loose a soft hiss at the pleasant sensation. The hand he’d kept pressed flat to tabletop found new purpose when his eyes opened to let him see the curving line made by the unbuttoned, but still mostly closed shirt, and he waved the sides wide, spreading them, so Ali was framed, turning the sight into an even better framed picture of her taught shape. Eventually he got enough of his first long look for the moment to read Ali’s expression, hoping to see want, and, as always, glad to find it there...

...But that twisty smile cocking her mouth up to one side, echoed by a brow too, and as her smile became a little smug, definitely pleased with herself, and knowing, her head copied the whole thing, cocking to the side too. “Mmn, my turn,” tapping and tugging at the collar of his shirts. “Show me whatcha got, baby, this morning was too long ago, and I could use a refresher study course, so go slow,” all that teasing accompanied by a saucy wink and her kicking legs swinging back and forth so they constantly brushed his. 

He shook his head, smiling, “So long as you like what you see,” and gained no verbal reply, just an emphatic nod from Ali.

Straightening to his full height, he began with the outer heavy cotton twill black button down, and took it slower than he needed to if just disrobing, but he liked to see her licking her lips, her own hands caressing her own neck and torso because she wanted to be touched so badly she couldn’t stop herself... And if him unbuttoning every button, then slowly pulling the material from his arms, before even contemplating the shirt under that was the sort of thing that got Ali in that mood, Nick could do that without a complaint. Both outer layers were gone, leaving him in undershirt, which he slowed down even more for her, Ali having been reduced to suckling at a finger, her other hand making teasing runs over her navy stretchy cotton blend covered crotch as he tugged the hem of his undershirt from his jeans. It was when he crossed arms, beginning to finally lift it all, revealing what she’d seen a dozen times a day probably but lucky for him, she wasn’t tired of it, that another moan came from her, hungrier, louder, and the cupping and rubbing at her boxer covered cunt wasn’t doing it... If it had been doing it for her, Ali’s hands wouldn’t have both gone straight into the underpants she’d borrowed, her legs wouldn’t have parted that much wider, all while she squirmed, rocking her hips in place on the table, panting, face flushed, lips swollen, and Nick didn’t mean to tease or taunt, but he paused a good long minute to watch the material that now covered her hands, shift and move rhythmically, hinting at the wanking she’d been driven to do. A bare foot, the arch high and she rubbed it over his thigh, whining, toes spreading to then yank and tug at the fallen hem of shirt he’d forgotten about in those seconds. 

Faster and slower he stretched and twisted some as he removed the last layer that had covered his chest, then gamely ran a hand over the muscles, watching as Ali’s eyes locked onto the motion, following it and letting out little whimpers in time to her own busy hands. Now that was pretty fucking hot, Nick decided, hoping he’d remember that some other time, but may forget, because, well, sometimes they got a little wild and his brain got addled from how good it could get. Casting a full body look over her, Nick paused again, seeing the spreading moisture and hearing the faint slushy sound of moist velvety flesh being teased and fingered, and he was left to imagine what was going on behind that damned material. A shudder of his own twitched through him, and Nick hooked hands into the waist of his trousers and boxers, intent on yanking it all down and away, to free himself but Ali’s foot came out again, then a hand, which she hooked into his belt, while the foot pressed tight to the bulge tucked to the seam of hip to thigh.

Firm pressure rubbing, Ali taunted and demanded with her instruction, when he was pretty much ready to burst with the heat centered, heavy and swollen in his cock, while head to toe he was simmering with the beat of his pulse. “Nuh-uhn. You’ve got to show me what you’ve got, Nicki. Don’t want to jump the shark to the big reveal too fast, taunt me with what you have that I want so bad...” Nick was ready to growl, until her juice covered fingers were withdrawn from their play so she could lick them clean, and she writhed and wriggled still sitting up mostly, so she could scoot the fabric that had obstructed his view so wickedly down, affording him peeks at where they both wanted him to be. She gasped while firmly pushing two fingers into herself, watching him with hooded eyes, the thumb twisted and cocked to rub at her ridge that was presently nestled between fuzzy folds, “C’mon baby, I love watching you move,” the words and everything else, and those actions too, and Nick took a bracing breath, wanting to drive her as mad as she was making him.

Probably a losing battle, but he could try, right?

Any sense of time was lost as he watched her watching him, belt clinking and clanking to be discarded, the very sound of it eliciting tremors from Ali that if Nick hadn’t been keeping himself together, would have been a new favourite thing to try and file away so he could attempt to make her do it again and again. Instead, he noted it, but it took backseat to shifting and rubbing the outlines of his dick so she could see the unabashed, undeniable fact that he wanted to be plunging in and out of her body with wild abandon. Except they both knew he probably would keep enough of himself back to prevent that kind of thing until certain they could both handle it. Not sure where that bit of habit and failsafe had come from, didn’t really care either, so long as he managed to not just out and out ravage her from the word ‘go’... Ravish, ravish was good, ravage was to destroy and that wasn’t what Nick wanted. Not what he needed. He needed Ali’s desire, to show her his, to taste and smell and feel, and to be close, fuck he needed to be close to her. What had originally been a pretty deep and demanding want when he first met Ali had morphed, or finally been acknowledged sometime between then and weeks ago, as a bone deep absolute need for the sake of his sanity and survival. 

There was no freedom until his jeans had been toed and kicked away, his boxers the last thing left, and when he’d begun to inch them down with hooked thumbs in the waistband, Ali had let out the most needy, whiny, plaintive mewl, her hands leaving off their own play to reach and grasp the air in his direction, while she scooted and hopped off the table, whole body wobbly. Naked but for his shirt gaping wide over her shoulders, Ali was pressing and trying to arch and rub all at once, a shaking hand gripping him through his underpants, moaning open mouthed kisses all that dimmed her noise for a even a breath between over any bit of him she could reach Nick’s knees came pretty close to failing him at that sudden and unexpected contact, his body only obeying through dint of will, an arm finding its most useful place around her waist, and he hoisted Ali up. Not just up into his arms like usual, but up-up, and over his shoulder, he needed a flat surface he could grab onto so he could plow into her body the way they both needed right then or ten minutes ago. He didn’t even notice he was hobbling and wobbling as he hustled them back to the bedroom, the one that held the immense rarity of a king size bed, which at some other point, like when his blood was in his brain and not straining his cock to its absolute limit which sort of prevented him from thinking anything beyond a need to relieve the hot pressure and longing ache, he would better be able to appreciate the awesomeness of a bed long enough that his legs didn’t hang off. (Those extra couple inches were the line between sorta comfortable to actually comfortable. But he couldn’t think, he could only move, and at that, just barely in some meaningful way.)

A momentary hitch was his boxers finally having slid the last inch or two down his ankle to a foot, and it kind of tripped him, but Nicki was single minded, a hand squeezing Ali’s bottom in time with his breathing, fingers teasing at her unintentionally, but neither of them could be bothered by anything other than the drive to get to the bed. With another wobble, shins barking the edge of mattress, he could finally allow Ali’s writhing body to slip down his front to the bed. Her feet touched but found no purchase, and she fell to the surface, unable to maintain balance at that time. Nick was right after her on that front, shaking legs giving up the last of their fight, and he caught himself on knees and braced elbows on the outside of her hips. Soaked thighs called to him, it was a fight he couldn’t do a damned thing about, because if he scooted down, he’d stay down, and who knew what would happen? (Could probably happily drown in Ali’s juices, but she might not be too happy to wake up with him dead. What a way to go though.) If he scooted up, then they could finally fit bodies together the way every fiber was demanding of him. Yeah, not much of a fight, and as her hips rolled up to welcome his cock into her swollen and wet, overwrought and teased to the brink pussy, Nick’s eyes may have managed to roll back in his head, since it was all he could do to remain with his weight balanced on knees and elbows, and to keep his orgasm from killing him right then and there. Fingers fought and dug into his biceps, Ali gasping, looking for the strength to move with any purpose at all under him, and Nick was going to die, he just knew it, moaning nonsense or just moaning in general, into Ali’s neck, unable to gather the gumption for true locomotion, all that remained was a rolling, side to side, hip twisting wiggle, that burrowed him in deeper, and left Ali mewling after not all that long, anything cogent having fled. Somehow he must have lucked out, had somehow managed to rub and roll and grind just where she needed him to be to set her off to the long anticipated gush of her orgasm, and that was it, Nick was done. He was lost. The world melted and he lost any remaining strength or thought, not beyond a wave that carried him off with blissful sensation then dropped him in a useless flop to one side, lower body remaining tangled with Ali’s. 

Stick a fork in him, because his goose was cooked.


End file.
